


There's Something For Everyone at the Public Library

by Raberba girl (Raberba_girl)



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Children, Adorable Tim Drake, Alternate Universe - Library, Books, Brothers, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Child Neglect, Children, Christmas, Family, Fluff, Gen, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd Is Trying His Best, Librarians, Libraries, Light Angst, NO CAPES, One Shot Collection, Siblings, Squabbling, Temper Tantrums, Unattended Children, homeless children
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 18:58:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16270352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raberba_girl/pseuds/Raberba%20girl
Summary: Batfam AU where Bruce Wayne is a children's librarian.Rated for Jason's language; otherwise, this fic would be rated T or even G.





	1. Part 1: Dick

There's Something For Everyone at the Public Library

(rough draft)

A Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

 

Summary: Batfam AU where Bruce Wayne is a children's librarian. Rated for Jason's language in one part; otherwise, this fic would be rated T.

 

Part 1: Dick

 

It was June, so Bruce was on the prowl for children.

 

"Mr. Bruce, Mr. Bruce! Look, I drew you a picture!"

 

Not regulars who had signed up of their own volition on Day 1. _New_ children. Fresh meat to boost the branch's stats, which would in turn mean more resources to provide the patrons with. And also just to read, because all children should be reading instead of glued to their damn electronics 24/7; why did fewer and fewer children READ every year?!

 

Stephanie Brown was pretty cute, though, and so was her picture. And regulars, after all, contributed to stats even more than newbies did. "It's beautiful, Stephanie."

 

"Tape it up, tape it up!" she demanded, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

 

"Of course." Bruce taped the drawing to the front of his desk, where he displayed all the pictures children drew for him. There were so many, he was always having to tape new ones on top of the older ones. Every few months, he'd take down the oldest and find places to display them in the quiet, four-bedroom house he had inherited from his parents when he'd been far too young. Something about children's artwork always made him feel 1% less lonely than usual. "How's that?"

 

" _Perfect_."

 

He and the five-year-old chatted for a while about Fancy Nancy, school, and banana bread before she had to leave. Then Bruce got called to the front desk to cover Diana's lunch break, and he steeled himself for an hour of dealing with grown-ups.

 

The first two patrons weren't too bad, just a man checking out a couple of movies and a woman who, miracle of miracles, already _knew_ she had $2.25 in late fees and wanted to pay it off. "And can I renew the stuff that's due tomorrow, while you've got my account open?"

 

"I certainly can." It got slow after that, so Bruce took the opportunity to progress on his personal research, making occasional grunts in response to Barry's bored chatter.

 

"It's crazy, like, just last week, I beat my own record again, but no matter how fast I get, I _still_ can't seem to be on time to anything...!"

 

The automatic doors opened again, and a small family walked through. As always during the summer, the first thought in Bruce's head upon seeing anyone very short at work (and sometimes also not at work - he carried registration slips in his pocket for that purpose) was _'CHILD ALERT; SUMMER READING SIGN-UP YES/NO??????'_

 

It wasn't until after he had determined that it was a child he didn't recognize that he took in details about the family. They were all dressed in clean but well-worn clothes, the man and boy looking like they'd pulled theirs at random out of a laundry bin in the dark, the woman in a pretty skirt that looked handmade. All of them wore sandals that were homemade for sure.

 

The man came up to the front desk with his wife(?) at his side, looking slouched and uncomfortable indoors. "Phone?" he gruffly asked Barry.

 

"Oh, sure, the courtesy phone's over here!" Barry said cheerfully, gesturing at the other side of the desk.

 

Meanwhile, the other family member and the other front desk staff had caught each other's attention immediately. The child, looking to be about six or seven years old, curled his fingers over the edge of the desk and pulled himself up just high enough that only his eyes peeked over.

 

 _'Well, hello there, Mr. Adorable,'_ Bruce found himself thinking, though all he said out loud was, "Hi."

 

In response to his smile, the boy easily hauled himself up the rest of the way until he was kneeling on the desk, his own grin blindingly brilliant. "Hi! My name is Dick!"

 

"Dick!" his mother hissed frantically, "Get off the desk!"

 

The boy obligingly hopped back down, and Bruce leaned over to meet his eyes again. "I'm Bruce."

 

"Wanna see me do a trick?"

 

"Sure," Bruce said, expecting something like the 'removable thumb' trick.

 

Instead, the boy did two consecutive backflips. Bruce was startled but impressed.

 

"Dick!" The mother exclaimed again in exasperation. She reluctantly left her probably-husband (who was speaking rapidly and a little angrily in a foreign language Bruce didn't know to whoever was on the other end of the phone line) and hurried to her child.

 

"He said yes!" Dick protested.

 

"Excuse me, ma'am," Bruce interjected, "would you like to sign up Dick for the summer reading program?"

 

"Oh, well, we don't live in town," she said regretfully. There was just the slightest pause. "We're from Haly's."

 

Bruce had guessed as much. People from the commune could be seen in town every so often, dressed oddly and not always fluent in English. Dick's mother was an exception in that she spoke and carried herself like an ordinary middle class American woman - only the shoes and the company she kept marked her otherwise.

 

"That's all right," Bruce said. "Any books he reads at home count, too." Did they have books for children in the commune?? "He can also read here in this building, and it will even count if you read to him, though he'll need a higher quantity if that's the case." He was showing them the colorful record sheet as he spoke. "Once he's filled out all the titles of what he read or listened to, he can bring it to show us and then pick out a free book to keep as a prize."

 

She looked very tempted.

 

"I get a prize?" Dick asked eagerly.

 

Bruce smiled. "Do you like to read, young man?"

 

"Nope!"

 

His mother winced.

 

"Hm." A challenge. "Well, do you like stories if people tell them out loud?"

 

"Yeah!" Dick's whole body rocked with enthusiasm.

 

Bruce could work with this. "What are the best kind?"

 

"ROBIN HOOD! He steals from the rich and gives to the poor, he does the right thing even when the rules are _wrong_! He shoots so good, he can hit an arrow he already shot! I can hit the target on the barn, but Mom doesn't let me use arrows, so I have to throw rocks, and they don't stick. I know it's the same place, though, 'cause of the dents."

 

"Dick," His mother murmured.

 

"I talk a lot," Dick immediately told Bruce. "Did I talk your ear off? Do we have to play the Quiet Game now? Ronnie and Davila always make me play the Quiet Game. I'm really bad at it!"

 

"If I find you a book about Robin Hood," Bruce asked instead of wasting time answering, "will you read it or let someone read it to you?"

 

"Will you show me a trick?"

 

"If you read a book, yes."

 

"Mom, he said he'd do a trick!"

 

"Thank you," the woman mouthed as Bruce started to come around the side of the desk.

 

Before he reached them, Dick's father forcefully hung up the phone and looked around for his family. He burst into a stream of not-English which Dick protested at first in the same language before going silent. The scolding went on; Dick's mother finally murmured in what sounded like an accented version of the language, and her husband abruptly concluded. He made a sharp gesture, and they all immediately headed for the door.

 

Bruce watched in disappointment and concern. His fears were allayed when, halfway across the parking lot, Dick put his hand into his father's. The man paused for a long moment, then leaned down to rest his forehead affectionately against his son's. His shoulders relaxed, and when the family resumed walking, all three of them were holding hands. Bruce could tell from the body language that Dick was chattering away again, and he smiled to see it.

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

Two days later, while he was crouched down and filling a small cart with picture books, Bruce was very startled when someone vaulted right over him, a hand briefly touching his back. By the time he jerked his head up, Dick was making a triumphant pose as he beamed proudly.

 

"Dick!"

 

"I came to see your trick! You never showed me last time!"

 

"As I recall, I said I would do the trick if you read a book."

 

"Aaww."

 

"Do you want me to help you find one?"

 

Dick shrugged. Bruce moved the cart out of the way and then started hunting down books on Robin Hood. He threw in some others about adventurers, dragons, bears, and fairy tales, in case any of them caught Dick's eye and gave Bruce a better idea of his tastes.

 

"That's a LOT of books!" Dick exclaimed in dismay.

 

"You don't have to read all of them, just the ones that look interesting." Bruce held up the Robin Hood ones, fanned out. "Pick one."

 

Dick grinned and pointed.

 

"All right." Bruce set the others aside. "' _The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood_ ,' an adaptation by Julia Taft. 'Long ago in England, in the trees of Sherwood Forest'...."

 

A few minutes later, he was called away to help a patron at a computer. "How about you finish this up, chum? I'll be right back."

 

When he returned, Dick looked restless and bored, flipping carelessly through the book. "You're not gonna do a trick, are you."

 

Bruce pretended to pull a candy out of the boy's ear. "You've got pretty big ears if you're able to fit snacks in them."

 

Dick gasped and grabbed the candy. " I akready know that one, Crona can do that!" he exclaimed, but he still looked excited.

 

"Yeah?" Bruce said, casually producing and making vanish a penny, brightly colored beads, his cell phone, and library card as he spoke. "So Crona's more impressive than me, hmm? The trade is not acceptable? You're going to un-read that book?"

 

"Woowww, Bruce, you're so cool!"

 

Much as he would have liked to, Bruce could not spend all his time with just one patron, so he checked out a laptop on a guest pass and set it up with a set of headphones for Dick to watch the Disney Robin Hood movie on. Dick was entranced, and was (rather loudly) enjoying the movie every time Bruce passed by. At one point, Bruce found the seat empty and the DVD menu screen looping, so he put everything away and hoped he'd see Dick again soon.

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

He did. Dick started coming in a few times a week, almost never accompanied, and Bruce learned that the boy was sneaking away from the commune.

 

"Don't your parents worry about you?"

 

"Nah. Me and Jasmine switch chores, and I'm always back before dinner, so they don't even know!"

 

"That is not something I condone, Dick...."

 

"I'm not gonna ask what 'condone' means, 'cuz then you're just gonna make me look it up in the _dictionary_."

 

Dick might not have liked books, but he found plenty to interest him at the library. He _loved_ Story Time, attending the weekly gatherings religiously - he seemed to enjoy live storytelling much more than reading.

 

The rest of the time, when he wasn't watching movies or lively documentaries, following Bruce around talking nonstop, or befriending othet patrons and all of Bruce's co-workers, he was involving himself in hosted events. He played with the computers, becoming more technologically literate in the process, and with the decorative stuffed animals in the children's area. He usually brought a simple, homemade lunch to eat outside, and Bruce soon got in the habit of joining him.

 

"The weather's getting cooler. Do you wear shoes in winter?" Bruce asked, knowing that even the sandals were only used for visits to town.

 

"The kids do. All the grown-ups stay barefoot, though, unless it's literally freezing. Literally! Like, so their feet don't get frostbite! Did I do it right that time?"

 

"Yes, 'literally' works fine in that sentence. Good job."

 

"I'm learning~!"

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

After eight months of being accustomed to Dick Grayson popping in at least once, usually two or three times a week, Bruce felt lonely and worried when he went home the Saturday of the first week where Dick hadn't shown up at all.

 

Tuesday dragged by, then Wednesday, with no sign of the boy. _'He's sick,'_ Bruce thought, _'or he got caught.'_

 

The minute he got home Thursday evening, he called the commune's single telephone number.

 

There was no answering machine. It rang and rang, and Bruce sat there listening to the ringing tone for four full minutes, apprehension knotting in his gut, before someone finally answered. _"Hello?"_ a man's voice asked dully.

 

"Hello, this is Bruce Wayne from the Gotham Public Library," Bruce burst out. "I'm trying to reach Dick Grayson, or either of his parents. I haven't seen Dick in a while, and I was just worried--"

 

_"They're dead."_

 

Bruce felt like someone had just punched all the air out of his lungs. After a very long pause, he finally managed to whisper, "What?"

 

 _"Gio and Mary. Killed. Don't you read the papers?"_ The man abruptly sobbed and hung up.

 

Bruce sat there, paralyzed. The phone dropped from his hand as waves of heat and chills shuddered through him.

 

When he was finally able to force himself to move, he shoved himself in front of the computer and started typing wildly. He did keep up with the news, sort of. He scanned headlines and kept an eye on politicians and was always on the lookout for civic events and services he could recommend to patrons. He just hadn't--

 

.....

 

The Zucco mess. _Dick's family_ were the ones who had been...?!

 

An hour of intense research laid out the whole story. An altercation in town had ended with Giovanni and Mary Grayson dead; their killer had later been apprehended thanks to information provided by their son (he'd survived, he was still alive, thank God, thank God...!). _'But where is Dick now?!'_ Bruce thought frantically. All he could find from the news was that Dick was in the care of social services, and likely no longer with the commune.

 

Traumatized, a witness to his parents' murder, involved in a criminal investigation, taken away from his home, living with strangers.... He was alive, but there was no way he was all right.

 

It was late, too late to call social services, so Bruce opened a new search, needing to know exactly how one would go about becoming a foster parent in Gotham.

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

It took _months_. Bruce did his part as quickly as possible, but the process still dragged on. His impatience to assure himself of Dick's welfare was compounded by all the alarming scraps of information he kept learning. Dick was in no ordinary foster home, he was in a juvenile detention facility because there were allegedly no foster homes available to take him in. Bruce wasn't even allowed to visit or call him, and since the answers to his outraged, desperate inquiries kept varying and occasionally contradicting, he became convinced that they were actively trying to keep him and Dick apart, though he didn't know if it was him or Dick they had a problem with.

 

Probably him, since he couldn't imagine any reason why they would have it out for a child as sweet and friendly as Dick. They were getting less and less subtle about how much they disapproved of the idea of two bachelors wanting to bring a young child into their home, and Bruce was starting to be afraid that they'd deny his attempts to become a foster parent in general or to take responsibility for Dick, or both.

 

In the end, he hired a lawyer. Bruce was not a rich man and could not afford a lawyer, but JoAnn Mendez was sympathetic when she heard his story, and worked out a payment plan with him.

 

It was worth it. Less than a week later, Bruce, with butterflies in his stomach, was heading to the detention center to see Dick for the first time since the Graysons' deaths.

 

The boy looked terrible. Bruce was aghast when the door opened to reveal an alarmingly skinny child whose head and shouldes sagged in defeat as he shuffled with exhausted steps. There was a bruise on his forehead; the edge of another peeked out from under the sleeve of his jumpsuit.

 

Bruce's voice sounded strangled. "Dick!"

 

The boy's head snapped up, and his mouth dropped open in shock. _'Did they not tell him I was coming?!'_ Bruce thought incredulously. Then Dick shot across the room, straight into Bruce's arms, where he sobbed deeply and wordlessly as if releasing months' worth of tears all at once.

 

"I'm here, Dick," Bruce whispered fiercely, squeezing him tight. "I'm here. You won't have to stay in this place another hour. We're going home."

 

And they did.

 

o.o.o

 

A/N: I prefer the _Grayson_ version of Dick's parents' backstory, hence why I'm going with John Grayson's real first name being "Giovanni."

 

This one-shot series will have four main parts. Damian will not be in it because I don't have any ideas for him. I've finished Jason's story already, and have written much of Tim's and most of Cassandra's.

 

This was one of those "randomly came to me" ideas. While I was planning it out, I realized that I could also connect it to a different AU, though I'm not sure if I'll ever finish that one.


	2. Part 2: Jason

_**There's Something For Everyone at the Public Library,** _ **a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

**Part 2: Jason (rough draft)**

 

A/N: Warning for brief but harsh swearing, because Jason.

 

o.o.o

 

The boy caught Bruce's attention for two reasons: one was the mild but noticeable unwashed smell. The other reason was that the boy was curled up on a beanbag chair, _reading_. Like children were supposed to do in libraries, like Bruce himself had done in libraries when he was young, like far too few children did nowadays because they were more interested in playing on the computer or running through the library as if it was a literal playground. This kid, however, had a neat stack of five more books sitting on the floor beside him.

 

Bruce curiously tilted his head a little to read the title of the boy's current book. _Emily of New Moon_. Bruce was impressed; a lot of the lesser-known classics got withdrawn because no one read them anymore. He'd nearly lost his temper the other day with a patron who'd tried to convince him that the original versions of books like _A Connecticut Yankee in King's Arthur's Court_ and _The Swiss Family Robinson_ were too 'difficult' for children nowadays. Bruce's argument, of course, was that children were perfectly capable of reading books at that level - it was the school standards that had gotten lower. Because if they weren't lowered, everyone would fail because their reading skills were so low, and they were so low because _kids didn't read_ these days.

 

Except for this one, apparently. "Do you like it so far?" Bruce asked.

 

The boy startled so violently that he banged his head on a shelf and knocked one of the decorative stuffed animals off it. Bruce stared, wide-eyed, but couldn't recover from his surprise until the boy had protested angrily in a strong Park Row accent, "Wasn' hurtin' 'em, I'll put 'em back, ya can't prove nothin', I didn' do nothin' wrong!" as he started shoving all his books onto the shelves he'd been reading next to.

 

"Whoa, whoa, wait!" Bruce finally managed to say. That did nothing to calm the boy, so he tried, "You're not in trouble."

 

The boy paused, then his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

 

"I was just curious. I remember reading the Emily books when I was younger, and I wondered if you liked them, too."

 

The boy remained silent, assessing.

 

"If you don't want those books, though, you can just leave them on a table, or on the side of the shelf there. That way we can process them and put them right back where they're supposed to go."

 

The boy finally mumbled, his accent milder now, "...You don't have to call the cops, I'm leaving." He put his hands in his pockets and started to slouch off.

 

"Did you like _I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings_?" Bruce asked desperately, having caught the title from the boy's little pile.

 

The child paused.

 

"It's a good book. How far did you get into it?"

 

"..........Didn't start it yet," the boy said warily. "Still working on _Em_ \-- on the New Moon book."

 

"Well, let me know what you think of it, and of the Emily book." Bruce gently pulled all the boy's books out from where he'd haphazardly shoved them and offered them to the boy again. The kid looked at him warily and made no move to take them. "My name is Bruce Wayne, I'm the children's librarian here," Bruce tried. "What's your name?"

 

"..........Jason," the boy finally mumbled.

 

Bruce smiled. "It's good to meet you, Jason. I'm very pleased you came to read books at the library today."

 

"Why?!"

 

"Jason, I'm a children's librarian. I love books, and I love to see children read books, and I get paid to help children find books they want to read at an institution whose entire purpose is to make stories and information and resources available, free of charge, to everyone in this city."

 

Still very cautious, Jason slowly moved to take his books back.

 

"Do you have a library card?" Bruce asked.

 

"Lost it," the boy mumbled.

 

"That's all right. If you bring your adult to the front desk--" Bruce had quickly learned not to assume that children always came to the library with their mother or father, "--then we can get your account updated and issue you a new card."

 

Jason slammed his books down on the nearest table. "Fuck you," he spat, and rushed out of the building. Bruce stared after him, wondering what in the world he'd done wrong and feeling pained that he'd accidentally driven a child _away_ from the library.

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

Bruce thought that he'd seen the last of young Jason, so he was delighted when, almost two weeks later, he stumbled across the boy curled up in the little niche between the Young Adult Graphic Novels and the books for the adult education center. Jason was wholly absorbed in whatever he was reading, so Bruce backed away silently before he was noticed.

 

Days passed, and weeks, and Jason gradually grew more confident. Bruce did not dare approach the boy again, but he kept a close eye on him, watching as Jason slowly went from skulking in corners to sitting in chairs or at tables. He always looked so thin and dirty, Bruce took to leaving packaged snacks lying around Jason's favorite spots as if other patrons had forgotten them, and he was gratified to always find them missing by the end of the day, particularly when he glimpsed Jason actually slipping one into his pocket.

 

One evening, Jason was still reading in the library near closing time.

 

"Diana," Bruce murmured to the assistant manager, "Jason doesn't like me, I don't think I should be the one to tell him we're closing."

 

"Oh, that little boy?" she said, craning her head to look. "I'll tell him."

 

"Thanks. Be gentle, and make him feel welcome to come back tomorrow."

 

"Yes, of course, Bruce."

 

Jason looked startled when he found the woman bending over him, and scrambled as if to run, though her warm smile seemed to ease his panic a little. "Hello, there! I just wanted to let you know that we have to lock the doors soon, but we look forward to seeing you tomorrow! When will your parents be here to pick you up, sweetie?"

 

"You're closing?" he said in dismay, looking down at his book, which he seemed to be about three-quarters of the way through.

 

"Yes, but I'd be happy to get that checked out to you at the front desk."

 

Jason clenched his teeth, but his tone was polite when he said, "No, thank you. Can I use the bathroom real quick?"

 

"Of course, honey."

 

Bruce, who had been spying, moved aside to stay out of sight when Jason headed for the restroom. The boy remained in there for about three minutes, then came out again with his hands empty and his jacket slightly bulkier than before. Bruce frowned and was debating whether to say anything when Jason, who fidgeted uncomfortably as Raven unlocked the front door for him, passed the anti-theft sensors.

 

They started beeping, and Jason was so startled that the prize he was smuggling under his jacket dropped to the floor. A split second later, he snatched up the book, shoved past Raven, and took off running into the night.

 

Everyone stared after him. "Welp," Jessica finally said in a resigned tone, "guess we're never seeing that particular copy of _A Swiftly Tilting Planet_ again."

 

"I don't think we'll ever see Jason again, either," Bruce murmured, feeling more sad than he expected. He would have checked out the book on his own card and let Jason borrow it if he'd had the chance to offer without scaring the boy off - yet now Jason was scared off, anyway, this time for good. _'I'm a failure.'_

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

As usual, Bruce was the first one to arrive at work the next morning. He stared at the ground in front of the employee entrance, where _A Swiftly Tilting Planet_ had been propped.

 

As Bruce reached down to pick it up, he surreptitiously checked his surroundings. The figure in the foliage near the garbage bins was well-hidden, but Bruce could see a bit of a dirty, scuffed sneaker. Still facing the door, he smiled in deep relief and badged himself in, hoping to see Jason in the library later that day, after they'd opened to the public.

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

He did not, to his disappointment, but a couple of days later, he looked up at the mother with a large brood of children approaching his desk and realized that one member of the group did not fit in. The other kids were carelessly boisterous, but the kid with the dirty red hoodie making a noticeable effort to keep his face turned away was obviously Jason. He veered off as soon as the mother stopped to ask Bruce for Dr. Seuss books, and then Bruce was busy helping her and didn't get a chance to look for Jason until later.

 

He didn't see Jason at all that day, but the next morning, a copy of _Many Waters_ was leaning against the employee entrance door. After Bruce had gotten his things settled in his desk, he took his library card and a copy of _An Acceptable Time_ to a self-checkout station, then leaned outside again to set the book near the door.

 

A few minutes later, when he was absorbed in setting up for Story Time, he was startled by someone pounding on the back door. He frowned in confusion when he went to answer, since the other employees would have badged themselves in, and anyone on official business outside of library hours would have rung the bell or knocked more politely.

 

Jason was standing at the threshold, fists clenched, face red and twisted with anger, _An Acceptable Time_ lying at his feet. "Whatdja do that for?!" the boy shouted at Bruce immediately.

 

"...That's the next book in the series," Bruce said warily, having no idea how he'd misstepped this time.

 

"I'm a _thief_! I fuckin' _stole_ the last two books, now ya jus' _givin'_ me 'nother one?!"

 

"You did not steal them, you borrowed them without permission, and I expect you to return this one when you're finished, just like you did the others."

 

Jason stared.

 

"It's on my personal card. I'll pay any late fees if you can't finish it in nine weeks." Oh, wait, the board had recently upped the maximum number of renewals. "Eighteen weeks, I mean."

 

Jason's face contorted with several emotions at once. The one he finally settled on was anger again. "'Snot gonna take me eighteen fuckin' weeks ta read _one_ book!"

 

That was obvious, since he'd finished each of the previous books so quickly. "I just didn't want you to worry."

 

Jason stared at him some more. This time, his voice was quiet and hitched. "Why...why'dja use yer own fuckin' card fer me, moron?"

 

Bruce stooped to pick up the book, then offered it to Jason. "I like to see kids' hands filled with books. I don't know why you don't want a library card of your own," though he could guess, since children's cards required documentation from their parents, "but I'm not going to let that stop me from filling your hands and your heart with books."

 

Jason stared at _An Acceptable Time_ for a minute. Then he made a strangled sobbing noise and fled without taking it.

 

Bruce lowered the book, not sure whether to feel disappointed or hopeful. Then he scowled when Clark and Victor came edging warily into view, having apparently witnessed the whole thing but been reluctant to interrupt. "What was that all about?" Victor asked.

 

"He wants to read but he doesn't want a card," Bruce grumbled. "I'm trying to make sure he can read, anyway."

 

"That's the kid who stole the L'Engle book, right?" Clark said.

 

"Borrowed. He brought it back."

 

Clark laughed. "Well, whatever's going on with him, I know you're the best person to get to the bottom of it, Bruce."

 

Shortly after the library opened about an hour later, Jason came in, quiet but not trying to hide this time. He reached without a word to take _An Acceptable Time_ from where it was resting on the desk beside Bruce's elbow, and went away into the stacks. Bruce didn't see him again until lunchtime, when he tracked down the boy (now lying in a beanbag chair and having progressed over halfway through the book). He silently held out a protein bar and a packet of fish crackers. Jason stared at them for a while, then sighed and accepted them, and Bruce went away.

 

At closing time, Jason came up to Bruce, his shoulders hunched in shame as he scowled at the floor. He put _An Acceptable Time_ on the desk, which had a bookmark from the teen area stuck in the very last pages, along with Louisa May Alcott's _Little Men_ , then waited, his head still hanging.

 

"Come with me and I'll show you how to use the self-checkout machines." It seemed to make Jason feel a little better to be able to check out the books himself, though he hesitated and still wouldn't look at Bruce when he slid the man's card back to him.

 

Jason hugged the books to his chest. "I was gonna bring it back," he mumbled. "I didn't know you have those fucking anti-theft things for library stuff, but I _was_ gonna bring it back even before it beeped me."

 

"I know. You're a very conscientious young man, Jason."

 

That startled the boy into meeting his eyes for a moment, immediately after which Jason fled. He hesitated only at the front doors, though this time, the security devices were silent when he passed through them. "Have a good evening," Raven said. Jason jerked again in surprise at being addressed so politely, and took off without answering.

 

Clark came up beside Bruce and clapped a hand on his shoulder. Bruce murmured, his eyes still focused outside the windows where Jason's hoodie had disappeared in the darkness beyond a street lamp, "I'd like to know what he goes home to every night."

 

"I'm glad he wants to come here," Clark said. "You've gone above and beyond to make him feel welcome, Bruce."

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

Weeks passed. Jason was coming in almost every day now, often waiting at the front for the doors to be unlocked in the morning. He had, however, made sure he was never around near closing time even after Bruce and the others stopped asking him about his caretakers.

 

Jason curled up in chairs to read, or browsed through the stacks in search of new material. After a while, he would sometimes even ask Bruce for recommendations.

 

Bruce discovered that, in addition to old-fashioned children's fiction, the boy also liked books from the adult section, mostly poetry and non-fiction about cars, cooking, crafts, survival skills, and drug addiction. (It was a weird set of interests, but who cared as long as he was reading.) He also started getting greedier about the books he borrowed, and Bruce had to set a limit of two fiction and two non-fiction books at a time. Jason had never yet failed to return a book on time, but in case the books got damaged or lost for whatever reason, Bruce couldn't afford to pay for more than a few replacement copies.

 

Jason eventually opened up enough to reveal that he was apparently _chatty_. Bruce, who now regularly brought a double portion of lunch, would split the food with Jason in the employee break room and listen to the boy rambling about everything he read. For a ten-year-old, some of his analyses were pretty astute.

 

"You know, I was thinking about it, and if Howl told Sophie how he felt about her earlier, he would have scared her off. He saw how scared of him she was when she was a girl, and she was so mad when she found out he already knew she was the old lady, she's like the kind of person you have to work backwards with to help." He took another bite of his sandwich, then smiled. "Kind of like me."

 

Bruce thought of how he'd spent almost a whole month lying about how he could never finish the gigantic portions his uncle kept making for him until Jason had finally grown comfortable with the idea of eating lunch with Bruce rather than taking unwanted leftovers off his hands. "Yes."

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

The week Jason didn't show up at the library, Bruce felt very uneasy, and now regretted that he'd given up trying to get any contact information out of the boy. His worry grew until he found himself lying sleeplessly in bed in the wee hours of the morning. The last time an underage, unaccompanied regular had failed to keep up with his usual library habits, it turned out he had been languishing in jail after the murder of his parents, so Bruce was now seriously considering calling the police to report Jason as a missing person. _'Today,'_ he thought. _'If he doesn't show up again by noon today, I'll tell the police.'_

 

Later, he got to work even earlier than usual, walking briskly from his car and untangling his badge from his tie so it would be ready to scan.

 

Then he rounded the corner of the building and dropped his badge. The ghastly sight of a trail of blood led from the street, across the grass and concrete, and ended at the employee entrance door where a child was slumped, soaked with blood. "JASON!!"

 

Bruce dropped his briefcase and flung himself to his knees beside the boy, feeling frantically for a pulse. There was one, very faint, but Jason _wasn't dead_. Bruce scrabbled for his phone to call 9-1-1. "Jason, hang on, just hang on, kiddo, the ambulance will be here soon, oh, please, Jay, please keep breathing, please hang on...!

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

Bruce thought he was going crazy, he didn't know what to do with himself. He walked all around the inside and outside of the hospital and called Dick and Alfred and drank horrendous coffee without tasting it and tried to get some tasks done for work, but the entire time, he was _desperate_ to see Jason, to make _sure_ the boy was all right, to see Jay's face and maybe even that crooked smile of his, but it was okay if he didn't smile as long as he was _alive_.

 

They let him into the boy's room at last. Bruce sat down by the bed and held the child's hand and thought achingly of how very small he looked. Jason's eyes were closed, but he was breathing, and Bruce watched the rise and fall of his chest for a very long time.

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

Jason woke up the afternoon of the next day. Bruce had left work early because he'd been a wreck at the library and Clark had actually had to tell him to just go home. Bruce had not gone home, he had gone to the hospital, and was reading a book to Jason when he looked up and realized that the boy was watching him, eyes half open. "Jason!"

 

"Bruce...."

 

Bruce shifted to sit on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling, kiddo?"

 

"Fine."

 

"Jason. You were stabbed yesterday."

 

"Hunh," the boy muttered.

 

Bruce reached out and gently stroked his hair. Jason flinched at first, but then relaxed and made no move to stop him. "You really had me worried, Jay."

 

"'S fine. Not the first time I've been stabbed."

 

Bruce's hand paused a moment. "Jay. That's awful."

 

Jason narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

 

"Did you not hear me say I was worried about you?"

 

"I'm just some random kid off the street. You have work. Why are you _here_?!"

 

"Jason," Bruce said slowly, "we figured out who you are. That...that no one's looking after you right now, and the last official record of you is a police report your foster family filed when you ran away _six months_ ago."

 

"They were hitting me."

 

"I'm not going to send you back to them, Jay."

 

"Yeah?" the kid said belligerently. "Where _are_ you gonna send me, then?"

 

Bruce took a deep breath. "Jason, you know how I live with my uncle and my son? We were talking last night, and we all thought that it was be pretty nice if you came to live with us."

 

Jason stared.

 

"If you want to. If you don't have anywhere better to go."

 

The boy's face twisted for a moment. Then his expression smoothed out in a strange way, and he smiled. "You're gonna adopt me like you did that commune kid?"

 

"Would you like that? I know I would."

 

There was a flash of emotion in Jason's eyes that came and went so fast, Bruce didn't have time to identify it. "Maybe. If I live with you, can we have chili dogs for dinner every night?"

 

"Hmmmrrnn, Uncle Alfred is a bit...particular about our meals, but I'll tell you what: anytime we go out, to a game or the movies or something, I'll get you a chili dog."

 

"Guess it's a deal, then," Jason murmured.

 

"Guess so," Bruce said, unable to fully hide his smile. This was exciting. If he didn't have the feeling that something was a little off, it would have been a perfect moment. "I'm going to go grab some coffee and call your social worker, but I'll be back soon, okay?"

 

"'Kay. I might be asleep."

 

"That's fine, kiddo. Rest and get better."

 

Bruce was halfway to the coffee machine when he suddenly remembered that he'd forgotten to give Jason the get-well card that Dick had made for him. He ought to pass it along before Jason fell asleep. He had the card in his hand and was opening his mouth to explain as he stepped through the door, but then he registered what he was seeing.

 

Jason, looking like a deer in headlights, was halfway through getting dressed in the change of clothes that had been brought for when he was well enough to be discharged. His pockets were bulging with hoarded snacks and packaged medical supplies. The stiff, sluggish movements were gone, replaced, before Bruce's interruption, with a pained but swift urgency.

 

"Jason...what are you doing?"

 

"...Checking out early."

 

"Jason, _you were stabbed_." _'And I JUST told you I want to adopt you,'_ he added silently, hurt.

 

"Told you, I been stabbed before," Jason said hotly. "No big deal, I even got clean bandages this time. Jus' walk away and I'll be outta your hair in a minute."

 

"I want you _in_ my hair, Jason!"

 

Jason's face twisted in wry amusement.

 

"I mean, _why_ are you leaving? I'm going to be your-- I'm responsible for you now, Jason, I just told you that."

 

"I didn' ask fer it!" Jason shouted. "It 's _fine_ jus' you an' me at the library, I been livin' _fine_ on my own since Mom died! I don' want ya ta mess it up!"

 

Bruce tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. "If you...if you don't want me to adopt you, why didn't you just say so?"

 

Jason looked incredulous. "I'm doin' ya a _favor_ , don' gimme that stupid look!" He gulped and made a noticeable effort to control his accent. "This way you don't have to pay the hospital bills or worry about having another mouth to feed, I'll find a different library if you want, too; I--"

 

He gasped and backed away when the man strode toward him, then looked bewildered when Bruce dropped to his knees and took his hands. "Jason, I care about you very much. I _want_ to spend money on you. That is, I _want_ to provide for you and give you everything you need and want. I don't want you to go to another library, and I don't want you to worry about hospital bills, because you're ten years old and that's not your job. I _want_ it to be my job."

 

He drew in a deep breath. "I didn't realize how lonely I was until I adopted my first child, and ever since then, I've been wanting to adopt another one because if having one child is so wonderful, having _two_ children is going to be _amazing_. And, Jason Todd, I cannot think of a single young man I want for my second son more than I want you."

 

Jason stared at him, his eyes glistening. "Wh...Why? Why m- _me_?! I'm not-- If you want a kid, there are _so many_ better ones, and, an' clean ones, an' ones who'll do what ya say; why...?! 'M not...!"

 

"Jason," Bruce whispered, "if you don't want me to adopt you, who will I read books and eat chili dogs with? Not Dick or Uncle Alfred, that's for sure. Dick doesn't like to read, and Alfred wouldn't touch a chili dog with a ten-foot-pole. If I don't have you, then I'll have no one."

 

Jason looked away and coughed hard, quickly swiping his sleeve across his face. His voice was rough when he said, "Well, since yer so pathetic, mebbe I c'n help ya out jus' a li'l. Jus' fer-- Just for a little while."

 

"We can see how it works out first," Bruce agreed in relief. "I'd rather be just your foster father than no father at all."

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

One year later, Bruce's ears perked up when, late in the afternoon, he heard the sound of a school bus stopping on the street outside. A few minutes later, his official, not-foster son came to dump his backpack behind the desk of the children's librarian. Bruce was glad that the school had finally agreed to drop off Jason at the library rather than in the neighborhood where he actually lived, since the arrangement worked out beautifully. "'Sup, Dad."

 

"Hi, Jay," Bruce said, wrapping his arm around the boy in a side-hug. "How was school?"

 

"Fine. Did my holds come in?"

 

"The CD did, but no books, sorry."

 

"Awww."

 

"How much homework do you have?"

 

"Just a page of math, I did the rest at school."

 

"All right. Finish it before five o'clock and I'll let you unpack the new books," Bruce said, referring to the delivery of brand-new items for the children's collection that had arrived a few hours before.

 

Jason grinned at him, scooped up the backpack again, and scampered away to study. Around 5:00, Bruce passed the table where he'd been working and was charmed to find Jason sharing a picture book with a four-year-old girl, patiently helping her sound out the letters. The paper next to him was filled with neatly-written math problems, one of them wrong but all work shown. Bruce didn't mind his children getting wrong answers, it just meant more time to spend with them when they went over the assignment together.

 

For now, though, Jason was busy, so Bruce walked away again without getting his attention, and went back to arranging the new book display behind his desk. There would be plenty of time to talk when he and his son went home together.

 

o.o.o

 

A/N: I finished Cass's story, but I'm still not done with Tim's, which is the one that's supposed to be next.


	3. Part 3: Tim

_**There's Something For Everyone at the Public Library,** _ **a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

**Part 3: Tim (rough draft)**

 

"Bruce? This young man has a question for you."

 

Bruce looked up from the report he was working on. Clark was standing there, obviously suppressing a smile, next to a child Bruce had never seen before who looked to be about five or six years old.

 

"This is the children's librarian, Mr. Bruce," Clark told the boy. "He'll be able to help you, okay?"

 

The boy looked indignant. "My question is for a _librarian_ , not a _children's_ librarian!" He was surprisingly well-spoken for his age, like he spent more time around adults than his peers.

 

"We're both librarians," Bruce explained. "I have specialized training regarding children and their families, but I'm qualified to help adult patrons, too."

 

The boy seemed mollified. "I came here to find a book."

 

"A specific book, or books on a certain topic?"

 

Clark, seeing that Bruce had it under control, backed away and returned to the front desk.

 

"I am looking for _Textiles from Beneath the Temple of Pachacamac, Peru_ by Ina VanStan," the boy said, stumbling over some of the pronunciations but making an impressive effort. He held out a sheet of notebook paper, on which he had carefully printed the title and author.

 

Bruce stared, understanding now why Clark had not helped the boy himself. There was no way a young child would be able to get much out of such a scholarly-sounding book, and Bruce was the librarian best-equipped to point the boy toward more satisfactory alternatives.

 

Still, it was good customer service to at least make the effort rather than dismissing the child's request outright.

 

"What's your name?"

 

"Timothy Jackson Drake," the boy recited.

 

"Do you go by Timothy, or do people call you Tim or Timmy?"

 

The boy did not speak for a long moment, looking surprised and thoughtful. "...You may call me Tim," he finally said in a much softer voice than the firm, businesslike one he'd been using.

 

"All right, Tim. Let me look it up on the computer." Bruce took the paper and typed in the information. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the public library even had such an obscure-sounding book in their collection. "It looks like we do have one copy, down at Central. Would you like me to put it on hold for you?" When the boy looked wary, he explained, "I can ask the central library to send it here for you, so that you can check it out without having to go all the way downtown."

 

"Oh. Yes, please."

 

"All right. Do you have a library card?"

 

The boy froze guiltily. "No," he whispered.

 

"That's all right," Bruce hastened to reassure him. "What about your adult? Who did you come in with today, chum?"

 

The boy shifted uneasily in a way that abruptly reminded Bruce of Jason, even though this child didn't look homeless at all. He was very clean, with well-fitting, expensive clothes and styled hair that would not have looked out of place at a social event in Bristol. "Never mind. I can go to the central library to get it."

 

Something wasn't right here, but Bruce didn't want to scare the boy off by being too pushy. "Tell you what, how about I put it on hold with my own card, then when it arrives, you can come back here and take a look at it? Does that sound easier to you?"

 

Tim relaxed. "Yes, that is acceptable."

 

'Acceptable.' Bruce loved this kid already. "I used to do the same thing for my son, Jason, before I adopted him and he got a new library card of his own."

 

Tim tilted his head curiously. "How many children do you have?"

 

"Two, both adopted. Jason's older brother is named Dick."

 

"Are they at boarding school?"

 

Bruce blinked in surprise. It occurred to him that this child was, himself, not in school, even though it was close to noon on a weekday. "They're at regular school. Jason actually gets dropped off here four days a week and hangs out at the library until we close, then we go home together."

 

"That sounds lovely," Tim said wistfully.

 

Bruce had to work very hard to keep his facial expression from changing. He was getting the exact same feeling he had when Dick had peeked over the counter that first day and stolen his heart. _'Don't get any ideas,'_ he told himself firmly. _'Tim already has parents who dress him like that and teach him words like 'acceptable' and 'lovely,' and get him interested in Peruvian textiles. He's a patron, The End.'_ "Tim," he said out loud, "I've put your book on hold, but it will take a few days to get here. Do you have a phone number I could call to tell you when it's in?"

 

Tim hesitated. "Yes, but if I'm not the one who answers, please hang up and try again later."

 

More mental alarm bells. "All right," Bruce said slowly. He watched as Tim, from memory, wrote out a number on a sticky note in very legible handwriting. "You know," Bruce said once the sticky note was safely stowed in his breast pocket, "while you're waiting for the VanStan book, I can find some other books on similar subjects that you might like."

 

"Really?"

 

"Yes. I'll look it up right now."

 

Tim waited patiently during the computer search, then followed close behind when Bruce went into the stacks. Bruce collected a pile of materials on Peru, textiles, archaeology, and the Inca, throwing in some volumes from the adult section because he suspected Tim would turn up his nose otherwise, but also including plenty of books from the juvenile section that would be more accessible to a six-year-old. Unlike Dick, Tim's eyes gleamed with anticipation when he saw the growing pile of books. Bruce set them all down on a table right on the edge of the children's section, almost in the teen area. "Take as long as you like, and let me know if you want me to save any of these books for you to look more closely at later."

 

"Yes, sir," Tim said absently, already diving into the treasure trove.

 

For the next several hours, Bruce kept on eye on Tim, frequently glancing at the boy as he worked. The child spent a while rifling through pages and looking at pictures, occasionally perusing the adult books intently, his brow furrowed in concentration and his lips moving as he silently sounded out words. After about an hour, he seemed to have settled more on the juvenile books, reading through them one by one at a rapid rate. A couple of hours after that, he was making comparisons between the children's books and the adult books as he wrote in a notebook. If not for his tiny size and the way he was kneeling on the chair with his entire upper body practically sprawled across the table in the intensity of his work, he could have been a college student. Bruce grew more fascinated every time he looked.

 

He wasn't looking, though, when Tim came to find him again. Bruce finished assisting a young father and his twin children before turning to Tim, who had been waiting quietly but anxiously. "How can I help you, Tim?"

 

"I can't put all the books away fast enough!" the boy said in distress.

 

"Oh - Tim, don't worry about putting the books back, that's our job." And since patrons who re-shelved books got it wrong 99% of the time, the books were essentially lost, sometimes for months. "Did you find any you like?"

 

"Yes, please, may I go?! May I be excused, please?!"

 

Bruce stared. This sudden panic was weird, and was making his something-is-not-right senses tingle again. "Yes, of course you can leave if you have to go. Will y--?"

 

"Thank you!" Tim cried, and dashed out of the library, still unaccompanied.

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

Three days later, Bruce was glad to have an excuse to call the number Tim Drake had left with him. After a long succession of rings, it went to an answering machine. "Hi, this is Bruce Wayne from the Gotham Public Library. I'm trying to reach--"

 

There was a clatter as someone on the other end picked up the receiver. _"Hello?"_ said Tim's slightly breathless voice. _"Mr. Bruce? I mean, Mr. Wayne?"_

 

"Hello, Tim. You can call me Bruce. I'm just calling to tell you that your book on Pachacamac textiles arrived, and it will be held here for you for seven days. Do you think you can make it to the library sometime this week?"

 

_"Yes! I'll come tomorrow!"_

 

"All right, Tim, I'll see you then."

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

When Bruce pulled into the parking lot the next morning, he frowned at the sight of a much too small figure waiting in front of the locked library doors. Instead of going around to the employee entrance, Bruce approached the forlornly huddled boy, who stood up the minute he realized the librarian was heading toward him. "Mr. Bruce...when does the library open?" Tim asked, sounding chagrined. "I can't see the numbers." He pointed at the door, where the library's business hours were printed high above his head.

 

"We open at 10:00 today," Bruce said, disturbed. He had not once seen this little boy accompanied by any adult. "Tim, who drove you here? How long have you been waiting by yourself?"

 

"Not long. Do you have my book?" Tim asked anxiously.

 

"...Tim, where are your parents?"

 

"They'll come back soon. Is it 8:47 right now?"

 

This kid was adorably _weird_. "It's 8:35 exactly," Bruce said, glancing at his watch.

 

"Twelve minutes," Tim muttered as if scolding himself.

 

"Did your parents drop you off here and just leave you all alone? What time did they say they were going to come back?"

 

Tim took a slow step backward. "I think maybe I should go to the central library."

 

"No," Bruce said quickly, wondering if he was being manipulated. "I have your book, Tim. It's the only copy left in the system, and it's not at Central anymore because they sent it here for you."

 

"Okay. At 10:00, I can come in and look at it?"

 

Bruce sighed. "You can come in with me, if you promise to stay where I can see you."

 

"I promise," Tim said immediately. He stuck close when Bruce badged himself into the building, disarmed the security system, turned on the lights, and put his briefcase away. When Bruce gave him _Textiles from Beneath the Temple of Pachacamac, Peru_ , the boy lit up with excitement and held the book like it was a precious treasure, practically hugging it because it was too heavy for him to carry in just his tiny hands. However, when Bruce looked up from his work twenty minutes later, he found Tim sitting at the children's table looking disappointed almost to the point of tears, staring into the distance with the book still open in front of him.

 

"Tim?" Bruce said gently, crouching down beside him, "Is something wrong, chum?"

 

"I can't read it," the boy said in a very small voice.

 

"Would you like me to read a few pages of it to you?"

 

"Yes, please," Tim gasped out.

 

Bruce moved into one of the tiny chairs and made it through two and a half pages of the book when Tim, gently and heavily, laid his hand down in the middle of the page. "Thank you, Mr. Bruce," the boy said, his tone polite and distant. "Unfortunately, I don't think this is what I'm looking for after all."

 

"Would you like me to find you more of the kind of books you were looking at last time?" Bruce offered.

 

Tim hesitated. "No," he finally said, sounding near tears again.

 

Bruce wracked his brains. He felt like Tim was about to fall off a figurative cliff, and was desperate to find a way to reach him. "What else are you interested in, when you're not reading about Peruvian textiles?"

 

Tim sat very still and said nothing.

 

"Do you like animals? Dinosaurs maybe, or trains? Or, fairy tales, comic books - we have all sorts of interesting books here, Tim."

 

"Do you have...any books about a detective?" Tim practically whispered.

 

"I certainly do." Bruce fetched a children's graphic novel series about young Sherlock Holmes, but Tim didn't seem to be interested. He did a little better with Cam Jansen, but flipped through the stack of Beginner books way too quickly; it seemed to be a time-killer for him at best. It was Encyclopedia Brown that truly caught his attention, and Bruce was able to return to work as soon as it became evident that Tim had been sucked into the book series (Bruce's co-workers, arriving around 9:00, were slightly exasperated and very amused to see their children's librarian accompanied by a random six-year-old an hour before the library officially opened).

 

By the time Tim finished all the detective stories that were available, it was nearly lunchtime. "Tim," Bruce said when the boy came to give all the books back, "I used to eat lunch with Dick and Jason when they came here, before I adopted them. They're in school now, of course, but my lunch break is in about fifteen minutes. Would you like to join me?"

 

The boy's eyes lit up for a moment, but then he said politely, "No, thank you, Mr. Bruce. I'm not hungry."

 

Bruce tried the tactic that had worked with Jason. "Really? Hmmm. You see, my uncle always prepares lunch for me, and he always overestimates my appetite. He sends me off to work every day with a giant meal, but I can't finish it all, and then he sees how much is left over at the end of the day and thinks I don't like his food, even though I _do_. I would really appreciate having someone to help me finish all the food so I don't have to throw it away and waste it, or bring the leftovers home and hurt Uncle Alfred's feelings."

 

Tim frowned in confusion. "You're eating lunch here? You brought your own lunch?"

 

 _'He doesn't have a lot of money on him,'_ Bruce guessed, and pressed his advantage. "Yes. I can't afford to go out to eat every day, and Uncle Alfred's food is better than any restaurant's, anyway."

 

"Oh. Well, if that's the case, I can help you out."

 

"Thank you, Tim."

 

When they had gotten settled at a table, Tim attacked the first few bites with barely-restrained urgency, but then soon settled into tiny, slow bites. Unlike either of the previous children Bruce had regularly eaten lunch with, Tim wasn't a chatterbox.

 

The comfortable silence was eventually broken when Tim asked, "So, Mr. Bruce, what do you do?" He sounded exactly like an adult at a boring party, as if that was the only type of social interaction he had been exposed to.

 

Bruce found it more worrisome than cute, and took the question seriously. "I'm a librarian."

 

He hadn't at all meant it to sound sarcastic, but Tim still froze and whispered, aghast, "That was a stupid question, wasn't it."

 

"There is no such thing as a stupid question." Tim looked skeptical, so Bruce elaborated, "Every question you ask means that you're trying to learn something new and decrease your ignorance. That's always a good thing."

 

"But if children asked _all_ their questions, they would bother the adults and cause trouble. _That's_ not a good thing."

 

Bruce put his food down so he could lean forward, set a hand over Tim's, and meet his eyes directly. "Timothy, let's get something straight here. I don't know who made you feel like you're supposed to stay quiet in a corner, but they were _wrong_. You are a delightful, intelligent person with very interesting thoughts, and I hope that you get answers to every question you can think of."

 

Tim was staring at him like a cornered rabbit, trembling a little. He abruptly stood up and backed away. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Bruce, but I have to go, it's very important!" he cried, and rushed out of the break room.

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

Bruce fretted for three days until Simon leaned into the work room and said with a grin, "You've got a call, Bruce."

 

Warily, Bruce glanced at the phone near the computer he was working at, and his eyes widened when he saw the name Jack Drake on the caller ID. He picked up the receiver at once. "Hello?"

 

Hearing Tim's voice was an incredible relief. _"Hello, Mr. Bruce. This is Timothy Drake. You were very helpful when I was looking for that book about Peru, so now I would like to ask about another book."_

 

"Of course, Tim," Bruce said, feeling his entire body relax for the first time in days.

 

_"The title is_ _ The Hound of the Baskervilles _ _, and the author is Arthur Conan Doyle."_

 

"Ah. You're going to give Sherlock Holmes another shot?" Bruce said, already typing.

 

 _"Mr. Bruce,"_ Tim said, his tone now accusatory, _"you gave me an_ _inauthentic_ _substitute for Sherlock Holmes last time, when I asked for a detective story."_

 

"Yes, Tim, I made an incorrect assumption about your tastes. I apologize."

 

_"Your apology is accepted."_

 

"All right, I've put it on hold. Should I use the same number as last time to call you when it comes in?"

 

_"Yes, please. But only if I'm the one who answers, please hang up and try again later if it's anyone else or the answering machine."_

 

"All right. ...Tim, are you doing all right? Do you need any help with anything?"

 

_"No, but I'll call again if I find anymore books I want to read."_

 

"No, I mean...with your life. In general. Are your parents treating you well? Are you having any trouble at school?"

 

Tim sounded confused and very polite. _"Everything is quite well, thank you, Mr. Bruce. Goodbye."_ He hung up.

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

When Tim's books came in, Bruce called the phone number on the sticky note, but this time, a woman with a Bristol accent like Tim's picked up. _"Hello?"_

 

Bruce thought quickly. He didn't want to simply hang up and was glad of the opportunity to fish for information about Tim's home life, but at the same time, if Tim was being abused in some way, he didn't want to get the boy in trouble. "Hi, this is Bruce Wayne from the Gotham Public Library. I'm calling because I'm preparing a book display on titles recommended by leading citizens of Gotham, and I was wondering if the Drake family had any books or films they would like to recommend."

 

 _"Oh! Well, let me see...."_ The woman, who turned out to be Janet Drake, gave Bruce a few book titles, chatted with him a while about the archaeological expedition in Peru she had just returned from, and called her husband over to get a recommendation from him. To Bruce's frustration, she did not once even mention that she had any children at all, and he couldn't think of a risk-free way to ask about Tim. He hung up feeling dissatisfied, and wondered if he should wait until the next day to try again, or try sooner with his personal phone, withholding the number and just hanging up every time someone who wasn't Tim answered.

 

Luckily, he didn't have to decide, because half an hour later, the phone rang, and as soon as Bruce saw the caller ID, he snatched it up. "Hello? Er, Gotham Library, Bruce Wayne speaking, how may I help you?"

 

Tim's voice was a whisper. _"Mr. Bruce!"_

 

"Tim, are you all right? I called earlier, but--"

 

_"Did you tell her about me?"_

 

"No, Tim, I pretended I had neutral business. Seriously, I'm worried about--"

 

_"Did you call because my book came in?"_

 

"Yes, but--"

 

_"You said seven days? I have to get it in seven days?"_

 

"I'll hold it for you as long as you need, Tim."

 

 _"Thank you, Mr. Bruce. I'll try to come soon."_ He hung up without giving Bruce another chance to speak, and the man stared at the phone in frustration.

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

Bruce was restless with anxiety again, and that night, he looked up the Drakes. It was easy to find information on them because they were both rich socialites and fairly successful archaeologists. Almost no mention was made of Tim except for a couple of photos where he appeared as the only child in a sea of grown-ups, looking tiny in his formal suit, eyes so distant and polite that he barely seemed like a person. _'Timmy,'_ Bruce thought longingly, wanting to scoop up that little boy out of those stifling surroundings and cuddle him close.

 

"You shopping for Kid #3?" Jason asked, snooping over his shoulder.

 

"He has parents," Bruce said shortly.

 

"Bruce," Dick laughed, leaning on his other shoulder, "you got all obsessive like this over Jay, and then you brought him home to keep."

 

"I can't adopt him. I'm just worried."

 

The boys shared a knowing glance. "Five bucks he comes home with Timmy in the next three months."

 

"Eight months," Jason said. "Getting custody will take longer since his parents aren't dead. Unless Dad kills them in their sleep or something, that's the only way you'd win."

 

Bruce sighed.

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

It took five days, but Tim finally came back to the library, still unaccompanied. It was two days before Jack and Janet Drake had a speaking engagement at a university in London (there had been a photo of them boarding the plane, since they intended to sightsee both before and after their presentation). _'Is he giving someone the slip, or is his nanny or babysitter criminally neglectful?'_ Bruce wondered. Though it was hard to worry as much as he should when Tim was beaming up at him in anticipation.

 

"Do you still have my book, Mr. Bruce?"

 

"I certainly do." Since they were under Bruce's own name, he'd been keeping them in his desk. "Tim," he said before he handed them over, "I'd like to ask you something."

 

The boy's face fell. "I'm doing very well at home and school," he said in a cardboard voice. "I'm going out to dinner with Mom and Dad tonight."

 

Bruce knew better than to challenge that closed off expression with the fact that he knew Tim's parents were not even in town. Though, honestly, the only reason he wasn't pushing harder was because Tim was always so clean, well-dressed, and not overly hungry.

 

"It's about the books. I did get you the genuine novel as you asked, but I wondered if you could help me with something." Although Tim's reading level was higher than average, Bruce was pretty sure a classic novel would still be difficult enough for the six-year-old that having to decipher it would leach out the enjoyment. That's why he had ordered an adaptation for younger readers as well, but he knew Tim would be offended if he didn't present it right. "I'm meeting someone next week, and I don't know whether to recommend the original novel or an adaptation. Do you think you could possibly do a comparison between the two, and let me know which you like better?"

 

Tim studied the two book covers. "I don't think they would like to get a recommendation from someone like me."

 

Bruce wondered how easy he had to go on the compliments to boost the child's self-esteem without overdoing it and scaring him off again. "I think you would be good at this, and I respect your opinion. I'll make the final decision later, I just wanted some input from you. I've been going back and forth about this for days, but you'd have a fresh perspective."

 

"Well...all right. I'll compare them for you."

 

"Thank you very much, Tim, I appreciate it."

 

Bruce got the boy settled at a table, then spied on him for the next few hours whenever he got a chance. The child seemed to be taking the project as seriously as he had when he'd been comparing the adult and juvenile materials on Peruvian textiles. It took him a few days, but at last he came up to Bruce with his verdict: "The adaptation is easier to read, but the real book is more important. Mr. Bruce, I think you should give them _both_ books - they can read the adaptation for fun, and it makes the real book easier, too, because you already know what's going to happen."

 

"I think that's a good idea, Tim," Bruce said seriously. "You worked very hard on this. I'm proud of you."

 

Tim stared up at him, wide-eyed, for a long moment. "...Really?" he asked softly.

 

 _'Precious,'_ Bruce thought, resisting the impulse to snatch up and cuddle. " _Very_ proud. You have an impressive reading level, Tim. I don't know any other six-year-olds, except maybe Jason, who could have helped me with this."

 

"Jason is your son," Tim said longingly. Then he blinked. "Why didn't you ask _Jason_ to help you?"

 

"Well, Jason has schoolwork, but you never seem to have any," Bruce fished.

 

"Oh. Yes, I finish very quickly," Tim said dismissively.

 

"What grade are you in, Tim? First?"

 

The child tilted his head in confusion.

 

"What school do you go to?"

 

"I'm homeschooled."

 

"I see. Does your caretaker teach you, or does someone come to your house for lessons?"

 

Tim was getting that evasive look again that meant he would run if Bruce pushed much harder. "I do my lessons at home, and then I submit them. They're always A's."

 

"You're very smart, Tim."

 

"Do Jason and Dick always make A's?"

 

"Jason usually does. Dick is better at sports than schoolwork, but Uncle Alfred and I work hard with him to make sure he keeps his grades up."

 

Tim nodded. "He has to stay in his room without dinner until he comes back out with A-pluses."

 

Bruce swallowed, trying to keep his composure. "I've never used food to discipline my sons, and Dick is a very social person, it would hurt him too much to shut him away from us. If his grades are too low, he has to cut down on gymnastics until they improve to at least B's. Jason's never had a problem with his academics, but we do have to keep a swear jar for him, and sometimes we have to talk when he gets in fights at school. I don't think I could ever shut a child in his room without dinner until he made a perfect score on schoolwork."

 

Tim was very quiet. Finally he said, "When Dick makes bad grades and Jason gets in fights, do they ever make you look so bad that you lose important connections and don't get invited places anymore?"

 

Bruce couldn't help it. He set his hands gently on either side of Tim's face, wanting to cradle the child like the treasure he was. "I wouldn't care if I never got invited anywhere ever again if it meant my sons would grow up free and happy."

 

Tim's eyes were a little misty. "I think I would like it if you were my dad," he said. Then he pulled away and left the library without a backward glance.

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

Bruce and Tim continued to find excuses to see each other. Every week, Bruce grew more and more impressed with and worried about the little boy. He was convinced by now that Tim was an actual genius, and it bothered him that the child seemed so unused to validation and affection. He tried to make arrangements for Tim to meet his family, but as soon as Tim got the merest whiff of Bruce's intent, he made sure that he was never at the library on Saturdays or on weekday afternoons after Jason got dropped off. His determination to avoid Bruce's children in person was matched only by the frequency of his wistful questions about them.

 

The closer they got to the three-month mark, the more insistent Dick's "When are you gonna bring Timmy home?" nagging became as he sought to win his bet with Jason.

 

Jack and Janet Drake continued to frequently leave the city or the country. Tim rarely came to the library when they were in Gotham, but he did several times a week when they were gone, and Bruce still had not determined who was supposed to be taking care of him in his parents' absence.

 

"Tim," Bruce said one day at lunch, "Dick and Jason think you hate them."

 

"No!" Tim gasped, looking horrified. "I don't hate them! They know about me?! How do they know about me?!"

 

"Because sometimes," (many times...) "when I'm at home and talk about work, I mention you, since I see you a lot at work."

 

"But why do they think I hate them? I never met them!"

 

"Because every time I start to suggest a meeting, you make up an excuse and run away, so they think you're angry and don't want to meet them."

 

Tim was starting to look upset. "But I.... But they won't like me if they meet me."

 

"You don't know that."

 

"But...but they're so cool, Dick won first place in his last competition."

 

Bruce had never said anything about that to Tim. He was very curious to know how the six-year-old had found out.

 

"And Jason is smarter than me. And I'm too small. Big kids don't like little kids."

 

"Tim, how about this. We can try just one meeting-- Are you doing anything with your parents for Christmas?"

 

"Oh-- No, we're just having Christmas at home."

 

"All right, then. We can have just one meal together, maybe on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, depending on what your parents are okay with, and if it doesn't go well, I'll take you straight back home. But if it _does_ go well, maybe you can stay longer. How does that sound?"

 

Tim fidgeted. Bruce waited patiently. At last, the child said, "I can leave as soon as Dick and Jason get mad at me?"

 

" _If_ they get mad at you, then I won't make you stay."

 

"...All right," Tim said quietly, looking nervous.

 

"Good. If your parents aren't home, who should I talk to about making the arrangements?"

 

"You can...you can email," Tim said. He wrote an email address on a slip of paper.

 

"Thank you, Tim," Bruce said. He smiled. "I'm looking forward to having you over for the holidays."

 

"Yes, sir," Tim murmured unhappily.

 

That evening, Bruce sent a message to the email address Tim had given him. He received a very short reply ten minutes later, and as the online conversation continued, he became more and more sure that he was actually writing to Tim rather than his parents. The spelling and capitalization were much better than the average six-year-old's, but there was still something off enough about the writing style that all but confirmed Bruce's suspicions. _We look forward to having Tim over for Christmas_ , he typed.

 

 _Tim is small he makes mistaks_ , came the reply.

 

_That's all right. Even if he makes mistakes, we will still be very happy to have him here._

 

_Ok Goodnight merry christmas!_

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

On Christmas Eve, the boys were excited as they ran around the house, making sure that everything was perfect for Tim's arrival and occasionally getting into friendly scuffles. Even Alfred was humming as he worked on a batch of fresh cookies. Bruce was the one more uneasy than excited, wondering how in the world things would go down at a mansion in Bristol where a lonely six-year-old lived with parents who were barely home and caretakers who let him wander around the city alone.

 

Bruce had asked a friend of his in law enforcement, Jim Gordon, to accompany him out of uniform (Bruce didn't want to alarm Tim by showing up with an obvious police presence). The drive was a long one, and the two men, neither of them naturally talkative, spent most of it in amiable silence.

 

It was fully dark by the time they reached Drake Manor. The gates were open, so Bruce cautiously drove through them and up to the house. The exterior and the grounds were covered with an obligatory, ostentatious display of holiday lights and decorations, but all the windows were dark.

 

A tiny figure was standing on the front steps as Bruce got out of the car and approached. Tim, despite looking ready to leave at the drop of a hat, was staring at Bruce like he couldn't believe his eyes.

 

"Hello, Tim. Are you ready to go?"

 

"You came," Tim whispered incredulously. "You really c--" He burst into tears.

 

Bruce, finally acting on what he'd been wanting to do for months, scooped up the little boy, backpack and all, and held him close.

 

"I'm sorry!" Tim sobbed. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

 

"Don't apologize. You didn't do anything wrong. It's okay, to cry, Tim."

 

"I...I'm...sorry...!"

 

"I want you to stop talking and just cry until all the tears are gone."

 

Tim's little arms came up to cling around Bruce. He slumped in the man's hold and wept, sounding so lost and relieved all at once.

 

Jim, meanwhile, had been unsuccessful in getting anyone to answer the door. Bruce coaxed a key and a security code out of Tim, then just sat in the car holding him for a long time. At last, Jim came back out and stomped over to the car. "There is no one in that house," he stormed. "Kid, how long have you been all alone?"

 

Tim flinched at his angry tone, probably not realizing it was his parents Jim was mad at. Bruce patted him soothingly. "Th-They said they'd call for Christmas," Tim gasped tearfully into Bruce's shoulder. "I was supposed to wait until 11:00 for them to call, because of the time zones, but if I waited that long then Mr. Bruce wouldn't come, I was gonna wait until 6:00 and if he didn't come then I would go back and wait for Mom and Dad to call, but now Mr. Bruce is here and I won't be home and even if they call, no one will answer, they said they'd call for Christmas but I'm not going to answer, I'm a bad son...!"

 

Bruce was shaking with outrage, focusing most of his energy on not squeezing Tim too tight. "You are a good son," he found himself murmuring, "you are too good for this, I am taking you home, ssshhh, we're going home...."

 

Jim got all the details for his report as quickly as possible so that they could leave and get Tim somewhere safe. This time, he drove, and the radio was set to a station that played solely Christmas music. Bruce sat in the back with Tim, talking to him in a somewhat desperate stream of chatter as Tim sat very still and stricken. "Are Mom and Dad going to go to jail?" Tim finally asked. "Did I get them in trouble?"

 

"You did not get them in trouble," Bruce said firmly. He'd _like_ to see them go to jail, but if he could use it as leverage to get them to give up custody of Tim more easily, he could live with that. JoAnn would know how best to play it. "You did the right thing, letting us help you. Did you bring a change of clothes and a toothbrush?"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"You don't have to call me 'sir.' Dick and Jason like to fall asleep watching movies in the living room on Christmas Eve; would you like to do that, too, or would you like to sleep in a real bed?"

 

"Um, I can sleep wherever they want me to sleep...."

 

Tim looked very nervous when they pulled into the driveway, and outright scared when they came down the front walk. He was clinging so tight to Bruce's hand that Bruce wondered if he was going to be able to unlock the door.

 

Luckily, the door was thrown open before they reached it. Dick stared out at them in delight, decked out in a Santa hat and the ugliest Christmas sweater he'd been able to find at the thrift store. "JAY!" he shouted over his shoulder, "TIMMY'S HERE!!"

 

"I GET DIBS!" the other boy yelled over the sound of pounding feet.

 

"Nope!" Dick lunged out, but Jason was so fast that they ended up tumbling off the porch together, nearly falling. Bruce caught Jason's shoulder just in time, and Dick turned his momentum into a front limber. The boys threw their arms around the little brother they'd already adopted in their hearts and swept him into the warmth and festive light of the house. Bruce was smiling as he followed.

 

o.o.o

 

A/N: I was really debating whether to post this today, or the new chapter of _The Birds Who Smile_. At first, I was leaning more toward TBWS (since it was last updated longer ago than this series was, and because it would have been nice to have a cute library fluff break amidst all the "John vs. Bruce" angst), but I eventually settled on this because it'd probably be a good idea to get a chapter or two ahead on TBWS to decrease my chance of making mistakes. If I can get a decent amount of writing done in the next couple of days, I'll probably update TBWS on Wednesday.


	4. Part 4: Cassandra

_**There's Something For Everyone at the Public Library,** _ **a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

**Part 4: Cassandra (rough draft)**

 

**A/N: I'm sorry this is so short! D8 I think I raised the expectations too high with Tim's fic....**

 

o.o.o

 

Bruce was tidying up the children's area when a little girl came straight up to him, grunted to get his attention, then grabbed her own crotch while pressing her legs together, making an urgent facial expression.

 

A little alarmed, Bruce guessed, "You need to use the restroom?" She jigged a little in what was probably acknowledgment.

 

The girl was beautiful but extraordinarily filthy, with long, tangled, greasy black hair, visibly grimy skin, thickly callused feet bare except for the dirt caked on them, and a brown dress that had once been pink. She smelled like wildflowers and old sweat. The only way she could have escaped staff attention all the way to the children's area was if the front desk staff were extraordinarily busy, and sure enough, both of the ones who weren't on break were helping patrons with the computers.

 

"It's this way," Bruce said, leading the child to the women's restroom. He was disconcerted when the girl strode to the closest toilet and hiked up her skirt without bothering to shut the stall door. Bruce spun away and pulled the restroom door completely shut.

 

Less than a minute later, before he'd even made it back to where he'd been working, the girl strode back out. "Wait!" Bruce cried when she passed him.

 

She stopped and looked at him inquiringly.

 

Bruce beckoned her over to his desk, rummaged through a drawer, and produced a granola bar, which he offered to her. "Are you hungry?"

 

Her eyes gleamed. She ripped the package open with her teeth so harshly that the food dropped to the tloor. Unconcerned, she scooped it off the germ-ridden carpet before Bruce could stop her and devoured the bar in three bites, carelessly letting the wrapping fall back to the floor. Then she gifted Bruce with a beautiful, bright smile that rivaled any of Dick's, leaving Bruce so dazzled that he didn't have the wits to stop her before she jogged back out of the library.

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

The next afternoon, Bruce was on front desk duty when he saw the little probably-homeless girl come in, unaccompanied. This time, she headed straight to the restroom without pause.

 

"Clark," Bruce said, rising out of his seat, "I'm going off desk."

 

"Of course," Clark said with a knowing smile. "You do need to tend to your future daughter, after all."

 

Bruce looked at him sharply.

 

"Oh, come on, Bruce. You adopted _all three_ of your children from the library. Don't tell me you don't see the pattern."

 

"Hn."

 

Bruce just barely made it over there in time, but luckily, the little girl stopped before he even called out to her. She put her hands on her stomach and made a sad face.

 

"Yes, that's why I came over here." Bruce fetched another granola bar for her, this time insisting that she throw the wrapper away in the wastebasket by his desk. She looked like she didn't see the point, but she obeyed readily, suggesting that her littering was out of ignorance rather than uncouthness.

 

 _"Very good,"_ Bruce praised in Mandarin, figuring that she was silent because she didn't know English. _"Little one, where is your mother and father?"_

 

Still no response or any sign of comprehension. Bruce tried again in stilted Cantonese and then in Japanese, and was about to make an attempt in Korean, which he was not as fluent in, when the girl clearly lost interest. She left the library, avoiding all efforts to stop her.

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

The little girl, whom Jason had started calling Cassandra when Bruce told the boys about her, did not appear at the library for two days, so, on the third day, Bruce was very surprised and relieved to see her trot into the room where he was conducting Story Time. _"But worst of all, Cinderella lived with her stepmother and stepsisters, who were very mean to her,"_ he was reading at the moment.

 

Cass looked delighted. She watched avidly and started to make her way closer, ignoring the children and parents who complained when she pushed past them or made faces at her smell and scooted away.

 

 _"I'll host a grand ball--"_ Bruce paused long enough to wordlessly gesture for Cass to sit down, and was pleasantly surprised when she obeyed (though she continued to scoot closer and closer). _"I'll host a grand ball so you can meet all the young ladies in the land."_

 

He found himself getting more and more animated, as if he was truly acting rather than just 'doing the voices' while reading. The other patrons continued to look uncomfortable, the children confused and their parents annoyed, but Bruce couldn't help it. Something about Cass's rapt expression sucked him in, as if she was absorbing the entire story through sight and tone alone, and it felt right to tell the story in kind. _"The prince searched for Cinderella for weeks and months...."_

 

By the time he reached the end of the book, three parents had taken their kids and left. Some of the children had lost interest; one of the mothers told Bruce condescendingly, "I'm not sure your new style will stick, Mr. Bruce."

 

"Maybe," Bruce said, looking at Cass, who was looking back with her head tilted. He really wished he knew what language she spoke.

 

"*ahem* _Someone's_ about due for a bath, I think."

 

"I've been thinking about it-- No, Cass, wait!"

 

He was too late. By the time he reached the door, Cass had vanished.

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

Next time, Bruce was ready for her. As usual, Cass made a beeline for the restroom, then when she came out, she went to Bruce's desk and tried to pull the drawer open, making annoyed grunts when she found it locked.

 

"Cassandra."

 

She looked up and studied him for a minute, then shifted to a sideways glance as she gazed at Bruce with an aloof look. _"I'll hear you out, but don't waste my time,"_ it seemed to mean.

 

"Will you please come with me for a minute?" Bruce lead her to the staff bathroom in the lounge and retrieved the Katniss Everdeen backpack his sons had picked out the other night. Leaving the door open, he had Cass sit on a footstool, gave her a pack if crackers, then, as she chomped messily, he got on his knees with a wad of paper towels. He was tall enough to reach the sink and soap dispenser from that position, and he proceeded to start scrubbing at the child's filthy bare feet, checking her reaction to being touched by a stranger.

 

She seemed perfectly willing to let him handle her body, and didn't look alarmed or uncomfortable at all. On one hand, Bruce was glad that, despite the numerous scars on her flesh, she seemed to have escaped the sort of abuse that would have left her frightened of a man's touch. On the other hand, it was extremely worrisome that she might allow the wrong adult to touch her, not realizing what sort of damage she might suffer by being too trusting.

 

"You need to be more careful, little one."

 

He quickly realized that the grime was too ingrained, so Bruce fetched a bucket, filled it with warm water, and placed the child's feet in it to soak for a while. As he worked on scrubbing her arms, he spoke to her in various languages, but she responded to none of them, instead just watching Bruce with a curious, almost affectionate look on her face.

 

It soon became clear that the cheap paper towels were useless for the job, so Bruce fetched the sponge from the sink to use instead, figuring he could buy a replacement. He used the gentler side of the sponge on Cass's flesh. At one point, Clark came in to tell Bruce that he was needed at the front desk, but when he saw what was happening, he closed his mouth without speaking and went away again.

 

Bruce's coworkers continued to use the patron restrooms and cover his duties. Meanwhile, Bruce got Cass's arms, calves, and knees clean, and used paper towels for her face and neck. The only time she started to panic was when he reached to wipe her forehead and the paper towel obscured her vision. "All right, sweetheart, all right, I don't have to clean your forehead."

 

He carefully brushed her hair, taking the opportunity to check for lice and relieved to find none. He finally lifted her feet out of the bucket and was now able to sponge the loosened dirt off. Cass sat cooperatively the whole time; when he gave up trying languages and fell silent, she started to hum a cute little tune.

 

When she was as clean as Bruce could get her without violating her privacy, he motioned for her to stand, and she did so. _'She really does seem to respond better to movement than speech.'_ So he did a lot of pantomiming now, showing her the clothes that had been waiting in the Hunger Games backpack. He hadn't been sure if her current outfit had been chosen out of necessity or preference, so he had brought options: a bright pink dress as close to the style of her old one as he fould find, a T-shirt, a long-sleeved shirt, a long denim skirt, and a pair of leggings. "I will leave you alone in the room and close the door," Bruce said as he acted it out. "You pick whichever clothes you want and put them on. Then open the door."

 

Her face lit up. Bruce went out and waited, feeling suddenly exhausted. After five minutes, the door handle rattled, then Cass thrust the door open, standing proudly in the leggings and T-shirt (backwards, but there seemed no point in correcting her). Bruce smiled and knelt down again to pull the next items out of the backpack. He gently lifted one of Cassandra's feet, then the other, slipping sparkly pink sandals onto her now-clean feet. Then he straightened up and slipped a flower clip into her hair, which had little practical use, but sweet children should have sweet flowers.

 

Cass, obviously excited, started to hop around the lounge in her new shoes, relishing the sensation of the cushioning between her soles and the hard floor. Bruce, watching her, realized that Clark had been right. He didn't really know what romantically falling in love felt like, but if it was anything like this breathless rush of joy, pride, and protective anxiety, it must be amazing. Bruce had gotten this urge to pick up and cuddle close and shield _forever_ exactly three times before, and the targets of each one of those urges were now living in his house. _'Mine,'_ he found himself thinking as he watched Cass.

 

When the girl had calmed down, Bruce set the backpack on her shoulders. "This is yours." Inside, in addition to the extra clothes, were some toiletries, snacks, small toys, and a little notebook with crayons. "Cassandra...listen to me, I want to talk to you about something."

 

Her smile faded, and she returned his serious, intent gaze.

 

"Honey, it's not good that you're all by yourself, that no one is taking care of you. Cassandra, I would like to take you to live in my house and give you everything you need."

 

No answer, of course. Bruce was beginning to wonder if she was legitimately mute.

 

The little girl, with a questioning expression, gestured from Bruce to herself and squeezed one hand over the other.

 

"Cass, I would never hurt you."

 

He could practically see her response in her movements and expressions: _"You take me away with you?"_

 

"Yes, but never to hurt you, Cassie, I-- I want to be your father."

 

She backed away in alarm, and was gone before Bruce even finished getting back to his feet.

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

Cass was gone for good. Bruce hadn't seen her in three weeks, and judging by how his coworkers were tiptoeing around him, he kept getting into fights with Jason and Dick, patrons kept giving him offended looks, and Stephanie stomped her foot and demanded, "Stop being such a POOPYHEAD, Mr. Bruce!!", he was grieving for the child as if he really had lost a daughter.

 

 _'You're a fool, Wayne,'_ he told himself angrily. If Cass had been abused by an adult male caretaker, of _course_ she would flee the prospect of finding herself at the mercy of another father. She probably had no experience to teach her what a parent _should_ be like.

 

Bruce lost it when he came back from lunch to find two patrons arguing vehemently by the computers, completely ignoring Clark's efforts to calm them down, their shouts and profanity audible throughout the whole building. Children were staring, clinging to their parents with frightened eyes. _'Not in MY library,'_ Bruce thought. He started marching over.

 

He'd only taken two steps when one of the men pulled a knife. Clark yelled and dodged a swipe, then the aggressor pulled back his arm to stab the other patron.

 

Something small leaped out of _nowhere_. One second later, the man was laid out on the floor, the other man backing away, and Clark staring in shock as little Cassandra planted a sparkly pink sandal on the chest of the man she'd disarmed and knocked down with the speed and precision of a ninja. "No," she commanded. "No, no, no, no, NO."

 

Bruce had reached them by that time. He no longer cared about idiot patrons or knives; all he cared about was his little girl, who he couldn't believe was safe and unharmed after an encounter like that.

 

He seized her and sank back into a chair, arms tight around her. She struggled at first but soon subsided, maybe because she could feel the way he was shaking, his heart pounding, his breath coming short.

 

They sat like that the entire time, as the police came to deal with the perpetrator, weapon, and witnesses. Bruce held Cass, trying to reassure himself moment by moment that she was safe and that she was _here_ , not suffering on the streets. She waited him out patiently, leaning her head on his shoulder and idly kicking her feet.

 

At last, he looked down at her. "Cassie."

 

She cocked her head.

 

"If you don't want me to be your father, I will not be. But please let me protect you, Cass. Please."

 

She considered, then wriggled to be released, and he let her go. She asked, with her face and body only, _"You and I, fight?"_

 

"No, Cassandra. Never." He found himself speaking with his body in addition to his voice. "You happy, safe, that's all. If you are happy, I am happy."

 

Cassandra beamed and put her hand in his. That same day, Bruce took her home to meet her brothers.

 

**Credits:**

_**Cinderella**_ **, illustrated by Ed Bryan (there was no author listed).** I'm probably going to replace it with a different book whenever I get the chance to look, but at this time, my options are really limited.

 

A/N: Again, I'm sorry this was so short! It's just that Cass has fewer obstacles to becoming Bruce's daughter, so he got to take her home quicker.

 

Although I've marked this series as complete on AO3 for now, don't Unsubscribe yet, since I've been working on a direct sequel to Tim's story ( _hopefully_ I'll finish it, preferably in time to post around Christmas).

 

As you know if you've been following my fic _The Birds Who Smile_ (and _Guardian Angel_ ), my friend breezy-cheezy (Medli45) has been sketching amazing artwork for the fanfic chapters I've been sending her. X3 X3 **She gave me permission to include her drawings with my stories on AO3! :D** I will take them down and replace them with links if/when she posts the sketches on her own sites, but for the time being, they'll be embedded here. **If you like Breezy's art, please comment on it so that I can pass the feedback along to Breezy! She loves hearing you guys' comments on her art just as much as writers enjoy hearing comments on their fics! ^^**

[ ](https://breezy-cheezy.tumblr.com/)


	5. All We Want For Christmas Is You (Part 1)

There's Something For Everyone at the Public Library: All We Want For Christmas Is You

(rough draft)

A Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

 

Summary: Tim's first Christmas with the Wayne family. Sequel to his installment of the main story.

 

Part 1

 

Dick was excited, because _Timmy was finally coming_. After hearing Bruce talk about him for so long, after seeing all the pictures (because Bruce was a creeper who liked to watch people when they didn't know he was), he was FINALLY going to get to see the baby in person. Jason was a good _younger_ brother, but Tim would be their _little_ brother, which was gonna be awesome.

 

"One dollar he'll like my cookies better than yours."

 

Dick was tired of betting with his money-obsessed brother (Jason actually _liked_ helping Uncle Alfred make the monthly budget and calculate coupons, he was crazy!). "You know he's gonna like Uncle Alfred's best."

 

Jason pouted. "That doesn't count."

 

"Come on, Jay, let's go get some movies ready."

 

Ten minutes later, Dick heard the car in the driveway. He ran to the door, and his first glimpse of Tim was amazing. He was so _tiny_ , like a walking coat with one itty bitty hand clinging to Bruce's and only his little face peeking out from under his hat. "Squeeeeeeee!" He glanced back to yell for Jason, and they ran to grab their baby brother and bring him in from the cold.

 

The front hall was a great bustle of activity. Dick grabbed the child's backpack so he could toss it aside and get Tim's coat off, but Jason yelled, "Don't steal his stuff, D(d)ick!" and grabbed it back.

 

"I wasn't _stealing_ it, I was just getting it out of the way," Dick huffed, moving to work on the buttons of Tim's coat.

 

"It's going to be right here, okay?" Jason assured the child, taking great care to place Tim's backpack where he could still see it.

 

"Are you cold, Timmy?" Dick asked as he tugged the coat off. "You're shivering. Don't worry, we can cuddle under a blanket and you'll warm up quick."

 

"Why would he want to cuddle with _your_ stinky butt?" Jason teased, helping with Tim's hat and gloves.

 

"Hey, I showered! Sit down so I can get your boots off, Timmy."

 

"You showered today, or last week?"

 

"You heard Uncle Alfred telling-- AAHH!"

 

Tim flinched and Jason jumped. "What the hell, Dick?! HECK, what the _heck_ , I said heck!"

 

"His FEET! Feel his sad little baby feet!" Dick demanded, pointing dramatically.

 

Tim looked like he was about to cry, but he kept his feet still for Jason to gently squeeze them. "Holy cheese balls, they're ice cubes."

 

"To the nest!" Dick declared. He grabbed Tim under the arms and lifted him up, carrying him like a toddler would a longsuffering cat. Jason ran around grabbing blankets, and they bundled Tim onto the couch. "This one's _really_ soft and fluffy," Dick said, tucking the edge of a blanket under the smaller boy's chin. Jason was carefully sitting on the child's feet so he could warm them without squishing them.

 

"Do you want to watch _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_?" Dick asked. "Or something else? We've got lots of movies! Oohh, and we've got snacks, too! What's your favorite, Timmy?"

 

Tim opened his mouth and appeared to be trying to answer the question. Instead, he burst into tears.

 

"WHADJA DO TA 'IM, DICK?!" Jason screeched.

 

"Nothing!" Dick cried, aghast.

 

"I'm sorry!" Tim sobbed. "I'm sorry!"

 

The older boys stared in bewilderment.

 

Bruce eased down on the couch. Tim scrambled around to hide his face against Bruce's shirt, and Bruce rested a hand on the little boy's head. "Boys," Bruce said to his sons, "Tim's had a trying day, and he might be very tired and wrung out. Let's give him some time to rest and process, all right?"

 

"Aww, Timmy, I'm sorry," Dick said earnestly, contorting half off the couch in a failed attempt to meet the smaller boy's eyes.

 

Jason slapped his leg, not maliciously, but firm. "Leave him alone."

 

"I'm just trying to apologize!"

 

"I'm sorry!" Tim wailed.

 

"I meant _me_ apologize to _you_!"

 

"Seriously, leave him _alone_ ," Jason growled.

 

Dick looked at Bruce, hurt.

 

"Why don't you pick a movie, Dickie," Bruce said. "No one's angry at you, we're all just tired and worried."

 

"Jay can pick the movie," Dick said, climbing onto the other side of the couch to drape himself over his father.

 

Bruce comforted both boys as Jason messed with the video player and then sat back to watch. Alfred soon came in to set a platter of snacks on the coffee table and then settle in an armchair with a book.

 

It was quiet for a long time, except for the sounds of the movie and Tim's attempts to suppress his tears even though Bruce assured him he could cry. Jason courteously ignored the upset child, and Dick stole longing glances at Tim but didn't try to speak to him again.

 

The boy gradually quieted, until Dick suddenly sat up and exclaimed, "Is he asleep?!"

 

"Ssshh," Bruce murmured. "I'll take him to bed." It had already been decided that Dick, who least minded being relocated, would sleep with Bruce that night so that Tim could have his bed.

 

"But we didn't get to play with him at _all_!"

 

"Dickie, Tim is under a lot of stress. He was all by himself when I came to his house, there wasn't even a babysitter. He wasn't sure if his parents would even call him on Christmas, or if I would come to pick him up like I'd said I would. He's been terrified of meeting you two because he thinks he'll make a mistake or disappoint you and you won't like him, and the first thing he does when he gets here is cry and ruin all your plans."

 

"But--!"

 

"That's what he _thinks_."

 

"Treat him like a beat-up stray cat, Dick," Jason said.

 

"Aw." Dick reached to stroke Tim's hair so softly that the child did not even stir.

 

"I'm hoping to be able to foster him," Bruce said. "Even if it doesn't work out, I'm sure we can arrange play dates. You'll get another chance."

 

"Sleep sweet, Timmy," Dick murmured. "Santa will come by the time you wake up, okay?"

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

Tim opened his eyes and panicked when he had no idea where he was. This wasn't his bed, the bedroom was so _small_ , none of the furniture or toys or books were--

 

Then he remembered. Mr. Bruce had come. He'd gone to Mr. Bruce's house and he thought he'd be kicked out for acting like a stupid baby in front of Dick and Jason, but...he must still be here. They'd put him to bed when he fell asleep, maybe because it was too much of an inconvenience to drive all the way to Bristol in the middle of the night. They would take him back home first thing in the morning.

 

Maybe Mother and Father had left a message on the answering machine. They probably hadn't, but he really, really hoped they had. He really wanted to hear their voices. If he'd been good, he _could_ have heard their voices when they called, but he'd been bad and sneaked out with Mr. Bruce, and then he'd been an idiot and made Dick and Jason mad at him, so he'd failed at _everything_.

 

 _'I'm really bad at Christmas,'_ he thought sadly.

 

He should stay here until someone came to tell him what to do, but it was still _hours_ before morning and he wasn't sleepy at all. He was hungry, too... And-- And this wasn't a guest room, this was _someone's room_ , it was his fault Dick or Jason weren't able to sleep in their own room...!

 

Horrified, Tim scrambled out of bed. He had to get out of here, go home before anyone saw him and got mad at him for messing everything up and causing so much trouble. He could take the bus.... He knew the number for customer service, he just had to find a phone and call customer service and they would tell him what buses to ride from Mr. Bruce's house to home.

 

He would need money for the fare, though.... He would have to steal it from Mr. Bruce. The thought made him want to cry, but if he could leave before anyone saw him, he could get home and take some money from Father's secret stash and then he could put it in the book drop at the library, when it was still closed and no one would be around to see him. He wouldn't ever be able to see Mr. Bruce again, but he could give back the money and never bother Dick and Jason again.

 

He needed to find the house number, though. He had seen the street sign when the secret policeman drove him here, but he'd been worrying about meeting Dick and Jason and too stupid to look for the house number. It was easy, though, he just had to step outside, and it would be on the house or on the sidewalk. Besides that, all he had to do was steal the money and call customer service.

 

o.o.o.o.o

 

Jason woke up when he heard a noise. He tried so hard to stay in bed, because all the stupid noises in this house were always acorns falling on the roof or the ice cube maker in the kitchen or Dad or Dick getting up to pee or _something_ , not strangers breaking in.

 

But it always made him nervous, and tonight there was Tim to worry about, too - a few times at his old apartment, Jason had found crying children wandering the halls (one girl had woken up alone and confused and scared while her mother was out working; one boy had escaped when his kidnapper fell asleep after hurting him but was too dumb to know what to do next). If Tim woke up in a stranger's house in the middle of the night, he might be scared and wander around.

 

Jason got out of bed. Everything was fine upstairs, but downstairs, the first thing he saw was little Tim backed up against the front door like he was cornered in an alley. He stared at Jason with a deer-in-headlights look.

 

"You okay, Tim?"

 

"I don't know the security code," the kid squeaked, glancing up briefly at the red light on the panel.

 

"Why d'ya need to know the code?"

 

"So I can...." Tim trailed off and just stared at him.

 

 _'He's as jumpy as an alley brat. I thought he was supposed to be rich.'_ Out loud, Jason asked, "You hungry?"

 

Tim didn't answer. Then his stomach growled and he looked mortified.

 

"Come on." Jason held out his hand. After a moment, Tim put his into it. The smaller hand was shaking, so Jason squeezed it reassuringly. "You're safe here, Timmy. I won't let anyone hurtcha."

 

"You're very kind," Tim whispered.

 

They went to the kitchen and Jason made them both sandwiches. When he set a plate in front of Tim, he realized the little boy was too short to reach his sandwich comfortably.

 

"Hold on, I'll getcha a phone book to sit on."

 

Once Tim was situated, the boys ate their sandwiches in silence for a while. After about five minutes, Jason noticed that Tim was looking more and more anxious. "What's wrong?"

 

"Wh-What do you do?" Tim burst out desperately.

 

"Do??"

 

"For...work...." Tim suddenly brightened. "School!! What school, _which_ school do you go to?!" He sagged slightly in relief.

 

"Uh...Gotham Academy."

 

"Oh, really?" Tim said in a polite, detached tone that made Jason want to hit him.

 

 _'You can't hit him, he's six,'_ Jason told himself firmly. It was just that Tim sounded so much like those horrible stuck-up rich guys who always talked trash about poor people, and like the snobby kids who made Jason's life hell at school. "You got a problem with what school I go to?"

 

"No!" Tim yelped, and now the lost puppy Jason wanted to protect was back. "I just--! I...."

 

"What school do _you_ go to?"

 

"I am progressing through the Brightstar Academy's online curriculum," Tim said in a reciting sort of way.

 

"What the heck, you don't go to school?"

 

"I mean...I do lessons on the computer. I thought that was school...."

 

"Wait, so you read and study and stuff, but you don't have to GO to school?! I want in! Brightstar Academy, you said?"

 

"Yes," Tim said cautiously.

 

"Don't tell Bruce or Uncle Alfred, I gotta play my cards right for this!"

 

"All right...?"

 

Jason finished his fourth sandwich. Tim's plate was empty; he had not reached for another after he'd finished his first one. "Are you still hungry?"

 

"No, I'm full. Thank you for making sandwiches, they were delicious."

 

"They were _actually_ delicious, or are you just being polite?"

 

Tim got the deer-in-headlights look again.

 

"Sheesh, they're not _that_ bad," Jason pouted.

 

"They weren't bad at all! They were _good_ , just not...good enough to be 'delicious.'" Tim swallowed and then whispered miserably, "I apologize for lying to you."

 

"Geez, it not a big deal, I was kind of teasing you." Jason hadn't expected the child to take it so seriously. "So you wanna go back to bed now, or you wanna play?"

 

"I thought...I thought I was supposed to go home."

 

"At two in the morning?!"

 

"No one has to get out of bed, I'm going to take the bus as soon as I find the house number."

 

"You wanna take the BUS home?!"

 

"So that...Mr. Bruce doesn't have to drive me...?"

 

"Wow. I thought you were supposed to be smart."

 

Tim flinched.

 

"I didn't mean you're dumb! I just-- _Dude_. We _want_ you here. And even if we didn't, Dad would never make you take the bus all by yourself. Okay?"

 

Tim looked like he did not know what to say to this.

 

"Come on, I'll show you my Mario game." He led Tim to the living room and unwound the video game controllers.

 

They were on their third race when Dick came downstairs. "Ah! I thought it was Santa, but this is even better!" He swooped to give Tim a bear hug.

 

"Dick, you're making him lose!" Jason yelled.

 

"It's okay," Tim said immediately.

 

"Santa's not even real."

 

"He is so!"

 

"You didn't even _have_ Santa on the commune!"

 

"That's because Bruce and Uncle Alfred weren't there!"

 

"You think Dad and Uncle Alfred are Santa?!"

 

"Duh."

 

Tim frowned in confusion. "Santa Claus is folklore."

 

Dick gently tapped his nose. "Santa Claus is getting presents on Christmas morning from people who love you."

 

"Santa Claus is an a-mal-ga-mation of Saint Nicholas, Father Christmas, and Sinterklaas. People used to give children gifts on December 6th for Saint Nicholas Day, and they still do in some places, but now it's the 25th because when Henry VIII was--" Tim stopped and turned red when he realized the other boys were staring at him.

 

"You know what, forget Santa," Jason said. "Let's play _Monopoly_."

 

"Noooo, that game takes foreveeeerrrr!" Dick whined.

 

They ended up playing, though, because Tim looked like he wanted to even though he refused to say he did. Jason sweetened the deal by saying Dick could have a cookie whenever (and _only_ whenever) another player landed on one of his properties.

 

"Timmy, why don't you use your Get Out of Jail Free card?!" Dick exclaimed after they'd been playing for a while.

 

"Because you and Jason own too much property over there, I don't want to land on them!"

 

"Sound strategy," a deep adult voice remarked above the boys' heads.

 

Tim startled so badly that he knocked the gameboard halfway off the coffee table; player and property pieces went flying. Tim stared at the wreckage, aghast, then choked out half an apology before fleeing upstairs.

 

"DAM--! DANG IT, DAD, WE _JUST_ GOT HIM TO CHILL A LITTLE BIT!" Jason shrieked.

 

Bruce sighed and rubbed at his face. "I'll go talk to him."

 

Upstairs, he found Tim in Dick's room, curled over his backpack and sobbing into it. As soon as Tim saw Bruce, he hurried to zip up the bag. "I'm s-sorry, I'll, I'm ready to, I j-just have to get my b-oots...!"

 

"Everything's okay, Tim. It was just a game, no one is angry at you." He picked up the little boy and carried him back downstairs, sitting down on the couch to cradle him in his arms.

 

Dick crawled to snuggle beside them and pet Tim's hair. "It's okay, Timmy, I was bored, anyway. Thanks for saving me!"

 

"You're just saying that because you were losing so hard," Jason said, coming in with two mugs of hot chocolate. He carefully set them on the table, then lightly slapped his brother's hand when Dick reached for one. "Don't touch Tim's."

 

"There's two of them!"

 

"The other one's Dad's."

 

"Where's _mine_?!"

 

Jason finally smiled a little. "In the kitchen with mine. I only have two hands, dummy, and I'm not Uncle Alfred, I'd drop a tray."

 

"Bring a straw for Tim's," Bruce suggested. Jason nodded, seeing that the younger boy was still crying and wouldn't be able to sip steadily from a mug.

 

The four of them sat quietly for a while, except for Tim's tearful attempts to apologize and Bruce's gentle shushing.

 

Then Jason, gazing out the window, started singing slowly. _"God rest ye merry, gentlemen, let nothing you dismay...."_

 

Bruce joined in, and his deep, rich voice seemed to cover Tim's distress like a blanket. The little boy rested against his chest, and Dick's cheerful voice chimed in with the song. _"O tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy! O tidings of comfort and joy!"_

 

When the song ended, there was a long pause. Then Tim said in a clear, weary voice, "I'm tired of getting things wrong."

 

"Do you know what happened the day after I came here?" Dick said conversationally. "I climbed up on the roof."

 

Bruce groaned in remembrance.

 

"Bruce was so mad, he--"

 

"I wasn't angry, I was _deeply concerned_."

 

"Yeah, well, Mr. Deeply Concerned here yelled at me until I came down, then yelled at me more because I jumped to the tree and climbed down before he could get a ladder. Then he gave me a lecture on _safety_ \--" The eyeroll was clear in his voice. "--and hugged me and then it was over. Bruce doesn't stay mad, or _deeply concerned_ , for long."

 

"They don't like it when I cuss," Jason volunteered, "even though saying things like 'Holy cheese balls' and 'Frick' is dumb."

 

"I like 'Holy cheese balls,' it's fun."

 

"Because you actually _mean_ 'cheese balls' instead of s-h-i-t. Anyway, they think cussing is wrong and make me put money in the swear jar all the time--"

 

"You've put a grand total of $1.25 in the swear jar during the past six months," Bruce pointed out.

 

"--ALL THE TIME, because they think it's wrong. They think it's a punishment, which is hilarious because where I come from, punishment means grabbing a belt and beating your kid with it 'til your arm's too tired to swing anymore."

 

"That's child abuse," Tim whispered.

 

"Whatever. Point is, all of us screw up, and if we got kicked out for doing things wrong, there'd be no one in this house anymore except Uncle Alfred. And no one's gonna hit you when you _do_ screw up, and...." Jason squirmed a little. "An' they still love ya even when you screw up, even when they're _mad_ , they still...don't hate you."

 

Bruce, still holding Tim in one arm, reached to tug Jason closer, and felt the boy relax. "That's right. I will love Jason and Dick forever, no matter what they do or don't do. We all care very much about you, too, Timothy, no matter what you do or don't do. Your place here and our respect for you do not depend on how well you perform."

 

"...I'm sorry for messing up your game," Tim mumbled into Bruce's chest.

 

"It's okay," Dick said, petting him.

 

"And falling asleep during the movie...."

 

"It's okay."

 

"And...Mr. Bruce...." Looking utterly miserable, Tim sat up and fished a handful of coins out of his pocket, cupping them in his hands, his head hanging. "I stole your money. To take the bus. But Jason caught me before I could leave, and then I couldn't put it back because they were watching, and...I stole it."

 

Jason barked out a laugh, sounding surprised but genuinely amused. Bruce made no move to take the money. "That's okay, too."

 

"It can be your first allowance!" Dick said.

 

"That's what Bruce told me when he caught me stealing money, my first week here," Jason said, having the grace to look sheepish. "Then I got so guilty I didn't even want it anymore, but he wouldn't take it back. I had to donate it to Dr. Leslie's clinic before it stopped bothering me."

 

Tim, looking more uncomfortable the longer no one made any move to take the money from him, finally leaned to place the pile of coins on the coffee table. After a long moment, he eyed Jason, then Dick, then Bruce.

 

"We like you even if you're bad," Dick assured him. "I still think you're good, though."

 

"...Mr. Bruce said you like to watch movies when you go to bed on Christmas Eve," Tim finally suggested tentatively.

 

"Yeah! Stay here and watch with us, Timmy, it's okay if you fall asleep again!"

 

"That's kind of the point," Jason added.

 

The boys made nests for themselves and settled in with snacks and the original _How the Grinch Stole Christmas!_ Bruce kissed them goodnight and retreated, not wanting to intrude on their sibling time but also not quite comfortable going up to bed. He settled in his study to work and read.

 

When he heard the disc's menu screen looping, he went to check on the boys and found all three of them fast asleep. He turned off the TV, laid another blanket over Jason, gently worked a half-eaten candy cane out of Dick's hand, and stood for a long time gazing down at Tim, who was curled up tight in his blanket nest and looked troubled even when asleep. Bruce finally turned out the last lamp and went away.

 

TBC

 

A/N: This was supposed to be a one-shot, but I've been having so much trouble writing the second half of it that I missed the Christmas deadline, and _just_ when I thought I was nearing the end, Jason suddenly threw a tantrum and now I have a lot more stuff to write to get everyone happy again. *facepalm* So I decided to split this into two parts and at least post the first part today!

 

Even though buses in New York City run later than they do in my hometown, they still don't run _all_ night, and customer service isn't available all night, either. Tim doesn't know that because he's never tried to ride a bus so late.

 

**Art by[breezy-cheezy](https://breezy-cheezy.tumblr.com/) ([Medli45](https://www.deviantart.com/medli45)), posted with permission; please do not repost! She sketched a cute comic of Jason in this AU (he has red hair; no need to dye it if he's never Robin!), being protective of baby brother Timmy. :)**

[ ](https://breezy-cheezy.tumblr.com/)


	6. All We Want For Christmas Is You (Part 2)

_**There's Something For Everyone at the Public Library: All We Want For Christmas Is You** _ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

**Part 2 (rough draft)**

 

A/N: NEVER MIND, this is going to be longer than two parts. X'''''''D I don't know exactly how long yet, because Jason's tantrum and the aftermath is at least an entire chapter by itself, and now the sequel has been bugging me to just be a part of this story instead, so I don't knooooww....

 

o.o.o

 

As usual, Jason was the one most excited for Christmas morning. He ran around the house hollering for everyone to get up. When Bruce and Alfred came yawning down the stairs, they found the other boys in the kitchen, Tim teaching Dick how to make pancakes and Dick teaching Tim how to make oatmeal. "And we'll sprinkle peppermint into it so it'll be _Christmas_ oatmeal!"

 

"Smells good," Bruce commented, leaning over them to look at their handiwork. Tim flinched at first but then looked up hopefully. "Though you boys need to tell an adult first before you use the stove. Who taught you how to make pancakes, Tim?"

 

Expecting it to have been a cook or a nanny or something, he was nonplussed when Tim answered happily, "Carina on YouTube. The cooking shows on TV go too _fast_ and they don't tell you the measurements! I like the Internet ones better. I wrote it down and practiced."

 

"I...I see."

 

"Why are you all cooking when there's PRESENTS?!" Jason screeched from the entryway. "Presents now, eat later!!"

 

"Christmas is the only thing Jason likes better than food," Dick confided in Tim. Then, in a whisper, "It's 'cause he hasn't had any good ones since he was a baby. He was _so_ surprised his first Christmas here, and then he got mad, and then he cried, and ever since then Christmas is his Favorite Thing Ever."

 

Jason, going out of his mind with impatience, had already sorted all the gifts by recipient and turned on all the indoor festive lights that weren't already on and set up a music playlist in the background by the time his family ambled in for gift-opening. "FINALLY. I'm starting because you all are SLOW!"

 

As Alfred recorded and Bruce watched (he always enjoyed seeing people opening his gifts to them just as much as the other way around), Jason tore into his presents and Dick happily began unwrapping his as well. Bruce's eyes moved to the youngest child, and then he realized that Tim was just sitting there, on the floor almost in a corner, hugging his knees and smiling a little as he watched the other boys opening their gifts.

 

"Tim," Bruce said, shifting to the edge of the couch so he could reach the little boy's gift pile, "why don't you come over here and open yours?"

 

The smile dropped off of Tim's face, and he stared at Bruce. "My-- What?"

 

"These are yours, Tim."

 

The child looked completely shocked. He didn't seem to even believe Bruce until he finally crept closer and saw his name on the tags. Dick, sensing that something wasn't quite right, paused and watched Tim in concern; a minute later, Jason caught on as well.

 

"Wh-- Why--?! Why are there presents for _me_?!"

 

Bruce's heart kind of hurt. "Santa Claus is pretty smart, he knew you'd be here this Christmas instead of at your own house. And of course we knew you were coming, so we got you a few things, too--"

 

Tim stood up abruptly, looking almost sick. Bruce, flashbacking to his first Christmas with Jason when his new son had reacted badly to unaccustomed generosity, wondered if he'd repeated the mistake. He hadn't thought that Tim, who came from a wealthy background, would be bothered by too many gifts the way Jason had, but obviously he'd miscalculated.

 

"But I-- I'm not--" Then Tim's eyes widened in further horror as he realized something. "I d-didn't get anything for a-any of you!"

 

"Tim, it's all right. Please, don't worry about it, none of us were expecting you to give us anything. We just got a little bit excited about you being here for the holidays, that's all."

 

Dick hurried across the room to hug the little boy. "It's okay, Timmy! Bruce always buys too much, anyway; he has a whole bank account he puts money into all year JUST for Christmas presents. You don't have to open all of them, just open mine and Jay's, okay? And Uncle Alfred's, and just, like, one from Bruce. Just one, okay? It's okay, Timmy."

 

By this time, a concerned-looking Jason had come over as well, and the older boys hovered as Tim shakily reached for the closest present with his name on it. He opened it slowly, careful not to tear the wrapping paper even after Alfred assured him that they weren't going to reuse it.

 

Tim stared at what was inside. Dick finally pulled out the toy and presented it. "Isn't he cute? It's from Bruce, but me and Jay picked it out. He's soft and snuggly and made us think of you! ...Do you like it?"

 

"Stuffed animals are for babies," Tim said blankly.

 

"Bullcrap," Jason said. "Dick's got a stuffed animal, freaking _Dad_ has a stuffed animal, more than one. No one's going to make fun of you."

 

"But-- I can't-- It's not allowed. I'm too big for teddies, they go in the trash."

 

Dick leaped up and ran upstairs. "Tim," Bruce said firmly, "I don't know what things were like in Bristol, but here in this house, you can have stuffed animals no matter how old you are. It is allowed. Do you understand me?"

 

"Yes, sir," Tim whispered, clearly not convinced.

 

Dick came galloping back. "Look!" he insisted, waving an elephant in one hand and a bat in the other. "This is Zitka, and this is Batman! Zitka was my friend back home and Bruce rescued her from jail after Mom and Dad died, and Batman was Bruce's when he was little! He still lives in Bruce's room even though Bruce is really old! You're only six, your teddy can _definitely_ be your friend, too!" He pushed Batman into Bruce's chest and then hugged Zitka defiantly.

 

Bruce chuckled in fond memory, turning over the stuffed bat in his hands. "I was so upset when my father first gave me this.... I was afraid of bats when I was a child, and Father had some notion that giving me a bat toy would desensitize me and help me get over the phobia. I hated it, though, and didn't want the toy anywhere near me. Then my parents died....

 

"A few months later, I happened to come across Batman in the attic, and...it was different, somehow. When I started keeping him in my room, it felt like he was watching over me every night, keeping me safe." He set the toy down, resting his arm across it, and looked at Tim. "I am thirty years old - 'really old,' according to Dick - and would never let anyone tell me I can't have Batman anymore. I might not _need_ him anymore, but he was an important part of my life and holds a lot of memories. He does not belong in the trash, and neither do any of your toys."

 

Tim looked back down at the teddy bear in the box. After a while, Jason finally picked it up and pushed it into Tim's arms. "I don't like stuffed animals anymore, but I know other kids like 'em, and that's _fine_. It's okay to let other people be nice to you, Timmy. Well, it's okay to let _us_ be nice, 'cause no one here's gonna hurtcha."

 

Tim finally hugged the bear and hid his face in it. Since he wouldn't move after that, the other boys finally went back to opening the rest of their gifts.

 

"Dad, I don't even have room on my _shelves_ for all these books!" Jason shrieked, half-laughing as he brandished yet another boxed set.

 

"You get angry at me when I give you too many toys," Bruce said defensively. "Books are the only thing I haven't found your limit for yet."

 

"You're taking advantage of me!"

 

"It's how he says 'I love you,'" Dick explained absently, smiling a little at the sight of a new pair of inline skates in the box he'd just opened.

 

While that was going on, Alfred handed the camera to Bruce and spoke gently to Tim, who'd finally looked up but seemed a bit dazed and had made no move to let go of the bear or reach for his other presents. "Timothy, if you are uncomfortable opening the rest of your gifts now, perhaps you would like to do so later, in private?"

 

"Yes, please," Tim said gratefully, squeezing the bear tighter. "Thank you very much, sir."

 

"That's quite all right. Also, you may call me by my name as the other boys do."

 

"Y-yes, Mr. Alfred...."

 

"What's your bear's name, Tim?" Dick called over.

 

"I...."

 

"Don't put him on the spot," Bruce scolded mildly. Then he noticed Tim's expression. "Unless you already have a name in mind, Tim?"

 

"I don't know if it's a good name...."

 

Jason looked him dead in the eye. "Tim. Dad's stuffed bat is named _Batman_. Bar's set pretty low."

 

Tim shifted uncomfortably. "Would you like to name the bear, Jason?"

 

"No! He's _your_ bear!"

 

"Or she," Dick put in. "Is it a girl or a boy?"

 

Tim gently ran his fingertips over the toy's face. "He's a smart bear, like Sherlock Holmes," he said softly, not looking at anyone.

 

"Sherlock? Is your bear's name Sherlock?"

 

"Yeah," came the shy whisper. "I mean, yes."

 

Bruce and Alfred insisted on getting photos of Tim and Sherlock the bear, both with and without Dick and Jason. Tim seemed to have brightened a bit by that time, but he still made no move to do anything other than sit at Bruce's feet and contentedly hug Sherlock as he watched the other boys continue to open and then play with their gifts. Dick eventually coaxed him into trying out his new remote control car, which Tim enjoyed (Jason had received one as well, and of course Tim's was still hidden under its festive wrapping).

 

Everyone worked together to help Alfred prepare a late lunch. When Bruce noticed that Tim had been gone 'to the bathroom' for an awfully long time, the boys went to investigate, and were delighted to find the smaller child opening the rest of his gifts at last. Tim had pulled them all behind the couch and was opening them in his little den like a wild animal hiding precious food. He didn't notice the older boys pressing their hands over their mouths to stifle their own reactions, or Bruce leaning over to soundlessly snap a few photos.

 

Alfred soon herded everyone back to the kitchen, and by the time Tim came in a last, looking dazed and happy, the family was pretending to be wholly absorbed in setting the table.

 

"You were pooping a long time. You sick?" Jason asked casually, prompting Dick to duck into the pantry to hide his mirth.

 

"Oh - no, I'm fine," Tim said, blushing. "I was...I got lost."

 

"Find anything interesting while you were looking for the toilet?"

 

"Jason, stop," Bruce said firmly, setting a hand on the boy's head. "Dick, Tim, come sit down, the food is ready."

 

TBC

 

A/N: *feels like I'm going crazy* I had a tough week at work, but next week my schedule should go back to normal. One of the up-sides to the weird week was that I was able to bring my tablet to work, so I typed a lot of the next chapter of this and also yet another alternate ending for _The Birds Who Smile_. (Speaking of which, I still haven't made any progress on the next story arc yet, I think my TBWS muse needs to finish editing first before it'll let me move on.)


	7. All We Want For Christmas Is You (Part 3)

_**There's Something For Everyone at the Public Library: All We Want For Christmas Is You** _ **, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl**

**Part 3 (rough draft)**

 

After lunch, the boys made a gingerbread house, which they'd meant to do the night before but hadn't gotten the chance to due to Tim's anxiety. The little boy was more relaxed now, carefully making a fence out of tiny candy canes as Dick glopped way too much frosting in an attempt to repair the house's uneven seams, and Jason fussed over the decorations. The project ended with the older boys getting into a fight and Tim hiding under the table as they were scolded and Jason consequently lost it.

 

"...and of all the things you would hit your brother for--"

 

"HE'S NOT MY FUCKIN' BROTHER YOU'RE NOT MY FUCKIN' DAD YOU'RE JUS' SOME CREEP WHO TAKES HOME KIDS WHO LOOK LIKE YOU AND REPLACES 'EM WHEN THEY START GETTIN' TOO OLD--"

 

"Jason, calm down--"

 

"OR WHAT?! WHATCHA GONNA DO TA ME, OLD MAN?!"

 

"Don't _throw_ that, you nearly hit--!"

 

"FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU AN' YER FANCY HOUSE AN' YER FUCKIN' SWEAR JAR AN' YER FUCKIN' CHRISTMAS SHIT ALL OVER TH' FUCKIN' HOUSE LIKE YA GOT MONEY TA BURN YA FUCKIN'--!"

 

"Go to your room, Jason!"

 

"MAKE ME!"

 

Bruce took one step and Jason's expression instantly shifted from rage to fear. He dashed upstairs and slammed the door of his room. Bruce, feeling frustrated and helpless, glanced at Dick without thinking, and the boy, face pale, rushed upstairs to his own room as if he thought Bruce might do to him whatever Jason had been afraid of. Bruce covered his face with his hand and rubbed at his eyes, not daring to look around for Tim (who was now curled in a tight ball under the table with his hands pressed over his ears, willing it all to be over).

 

After a few minutes, Bruce went up and very cautiously knocked on the door of Dick's room. The boy was curled up in the chair by the window, hugging Zitka tightly as he gazed outside.

 

"Hey, chum," Bruce said softly, sitting down nearby but not too close.

 

"I shouldn't have made fun of him," Dick muttered. "I didn't mean to make him mad, I was just...teasing." He ducked his face down against Zitka's fur. "Because he's better at decorating than me," he added in a mumble, "and Tim likes him better, and _you_ like him better, he was right, I'm getting too old...!"

 

"Dickie, why would you even think that?" Bruce asked in bewilderment, tugging his son into his arms and letting Dick sob into his shoulder. "There are plenty of things you're better at than Jason is, and I love _both_ of you, neither one more than the other. Jason might have better intuition when it comes to Tim because neither of them had loving parents like you did, but that doesn't mean they like each other better than you. Everyone in this house cares about you, Dickie. ...Come on, chum, look at me."

 

"I'm not cute anymore," Dick wailed. "That's why you keep finding little ones to replace me!"

 

"Dick...that is not true, no one could _ever_ replace you, Richard...." He continued to murmur reassurance until the boy finally sniffed and leaned back. "I'm sorry, Dick," Bruce said earnestly. "I depend on you so much now, and you're...so well-behaved, I must have started taking you for granted. I appreciate you so much, chum. I'm sorry I stopped making the effort to let you know how special you are to me."

 

"I keep messing up with Timmy," Dick mumbled.

 

"You are doing a wonderful job with Tim, it is _not_ your fault that other people trained him to be fearful and high-strung. Once he's older and stronger, he'll be glad of how affectionate and attentive you are with him."

 

Dick smiled a little. "You really are gonna adopt him?"

 

"I'd be surprised if they didn't let me. If it all works out, I'll be depending on you to teach Tim what love looks like, Dick, all right? Just be patient, and he'll start responding more appropriately."

 

"Yeah."

 

Bruce kissed the top of his head and Dick sort of nuzzled into him. When Bruce finally stood up, he looked at the doorway and sighed.

 

Dick grinned. "Now you have to go talk to Jason."

 

"He's so angry at me," Bruce lamented, letting a little whine creep into his voice.

 

"He's not mad, Bruce, he's scared. He's mad at _himself_ for messing up, and blaming you so it won't be his fault and he won't get whipped like his dad used to do when he got in trouble."

 

Bruce had known all this on a half-conscious level, but hearing Dick say it out loud put it in perspective. "Why are you so smart?"

 

"Because I'm special and you love me best," Dick preened playfully.

 

"Will you go downstairs and check on Tim?"

 

"Yup." Dick hopped to his feet and they parted in the hall, Dick heading for the stairs and Bruce for his other son's room.

 

Jason was sitting at his desk, writing in a notebook. The boy immediately stood up and pushed a folded paper at Bruce that turned out to have money tucked inside.

 

"That's for the swear jar," Jason said roughly, already retreating to the window. "I don't remember exactly how many times I cussed, but it's _enough_ , okay? There's like four dollars in there."

 

Bruce wordlessly set the packet aside without opening it and continued on. Jason's sulky demeanor suddenly dropped. "I don't want to be touched right now!" He yelled, standing up on a chair. "Safe zone, I need a safe zone! I'm in my safe zone right now!"

 

Bruce held out his hands placatingly. "All right, Jason, all right. I'm just sitting down here on the bed. Okay? I won't come over there."

 

Jason regarded him.

 

"I'm not going to hurt you, Jay," Bruce said softly.

 

"I know."

 

It was quiet a moment. "Jason, do you know why we need to talk?"

 

Jason sighed deeply and sank down on the seat. "I screwed up again."

 

"As far as the swear jar is concerned, I'll give you a Christmas discount - just a dollar for the whole thing, you can take back the rest. But, Jason...."

 

The boy fidgeted, picking at a loose thread.

 

"It was dangerous when you threw that box, and it was unacceptable to hit your brother. I haven't decided yet what the consequences for that will be, but there _will_ be some." He managed not to wince when the seam gave and Jason ripped an entire hole in his pajama pants. "...Jay. It's okay. Just apologize to Dick and next time--"

 

"I didn't mean to hit him!" Jason burst out, still staring at the floor. With all the frustration in his voice, it didn't sound like an excuse, so Bruce waited.

 

"He didn't-- He didn't do anything _wrong_ , it's just, he was messing it up and not _listening_ to me and I was so _mad_ , and I wouldn't've hit 'im I just, my body just did it and I didn't know, I didn't want--" There were tears in Jason's voice now. "Why is he such a--?! Such a _jerk_?! Why do I tell myself I'm not going to do things and then do them anyway?! It SUCKS!"

 

Bruce hesitated, then slid to his knees on the floor to get as small and nonthreatening as possible. "Jason, may I please hug you?"

 

"No!" Jason yelled, but then dissolved into sobs. After a minute, he sort of crept toward Bruce from the side and gingerly curled into him, sobbing into his father's shoulder. Bruce just as carefully rested an arm around him and squeezed a little. "I hate myself," Jason wailed.

 

Alarmed, Bruce folded himself around his son and hugged him more firmly. "Jay, you have come _so_ far in the past few years and I am _so_ proud of you."

 

Jason cried harder, and twitched as if he was torn between jerking away and burrowing deeper into the hug.

 

"I love you so much, Jason. You're such an incredible person and I am so proud to be your father."

 

"I keep messing up...no matter how much I try, I keep messing up...."

 

"Everyone messes up, Jason. It's so important that you _do_ keep trying." He waited a moment, then asked, "Why do we fall, son?"

 

Jason sniffled and recited, "So we learn how to pick ourselves up." He slowly sat up and swiped an arm under his nose. "I'm such a _baby_ ," he muttered in self-disgust.

 

"That's right." Jason's eyes widened, but before he could take offense, Bruce stood up, sweeping the boy into his arms and cuddling him. "You're _my_ baby, my darling boy."

 

"Dad!" Jason cried, squirming.

 

"I am so proud of my marvelous child and shall brag about him to all the world--"

 

"Daaaaad!" Jason whined, half-laughing.

 

"--and all the other mothers shall be positively green with envy that my brilliant baby boy is _far_ superior to all _their_ dull little offspring--"

 

"Are you _quoting_ something?!"

 

Bruce finally relented and set Jason on his feet. The boy threw a few mock-punches and then looked down, shuffling his feet and still grinning a bit.

 

Bruce set a hand on his son's shoulder and squeezed. "Jay. I'm here for you, okay?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"If you're ready to go back downstairs, you need to apologize to Dick."

 

"Okay," Jason mumbled.

 

In the living room, Dick and Tim were huddled together on the couch, talking quietly as they watched a lava lamp that had been one of Dick's gifts. When Jason came into sight, the other boys stood up, Tim backing away nervously.

 

Jason came to a stop in front of his older brother, slouching as he fidgeted and scowled at the floor.

 

"Jason has something to say to you, Dick," Bruce prompted.

 

Dick looked expectant and a little hopeful as his younger brother scowled harder and visibly struggled. Jason finally looked up and shouted, "Screw you, Dickhead! I hate you!"

 

Bruce pressed both hands over his face in exasperation.

 

Dick looked disappointed for a second, then neutral. He embraced his brother slowly enough to give Jason time to rebuff him, though the other boy didn't move. "I forgive you, Jay," Dick murmured, squeezing just enough to be comfortable.

 

Jason burst into fresh tears and cried in Dick's arms for a while before finally wailing, "I'm sorry, Dick! I'm sorry...I don't know-- I don't _know_...!"

 

Dick squeezed a little tighter as he brightened. "'S okay, Jaybird. I still love you."

 

"That's because you're a needy doormat!" Jason sobbed, barely intelligible.

 

"I don't know what you just said, but I'll take it as a compliment."

 

"It's noooot!"

 

Dick simply shifted his grip and started rocking a little, as if his little brother was a baby rather than almost as big as he was.

 

"Nnnnnnngggghhh, I'm so _mad_!"

 

"You wanna play basketball?"

 

"Yeah."

 

Dick turned back. "You wanna play, Timmy?"

 

Everyone stared, finally noticing that the little boy was backed up all the way against the far wall. "Oh - no, thank you," Tim said, incredibly politely.

 

He ended up sitting on the porch and watching as Bruce and even Alfred played with the older boys. By the time they all came inside, sweating and glowing with satisfaction, Jason had fully calmed down and Tim seemed to have marginally relaxed, though Bruce noticed that the smallest boy always kept someone between himself and Jason.

 

"Wateeeerrr!" Dick crowed, flying to the sink and slurping straight from the tap.

 

" _Really_ , Richard," Alfred said in exasperation, pulling glasses down from the cabinets.

 

"I'm hungry," Jason said, rifling through the refrigerator.

 

"Bottomless pit," Bruce laughed, even as he helped spread out sandwich ingredients on the counter.

 

Although Alfred declined, the rest of the family had a second lunch, the older boys chattering enthusiastically enough to make up for their contently taciturn companions. Trouble started brewing again when Dick brought out what was left of the Christmas cookies and started passing the container around.

 

"You want some?" Jason asked, getting up to offer the cookies to Tim when Bruce declined a share.

 

Tim flinched when Jason approached him. His expression and tone were very carefully polite when he said, "N-no, thank you, that's all right."

 

The color drained out of Jason's face when he realized that the smaller boy was afraid of him. His jaw clenched in the way that meant he was about to lose it, and Bruce, Alfred, and Dick all surged forward in alarm. They paused when Jason stepped away from Tim instead. Jason very carefully set the plate down on the table, then stalked to the back door, which he wrenched open. He ran into the backyard and started kicking a tree as he yelled.

 

Bruce sighed and followed him. "He hates me!" Jason burst out when he saw his father coming. "He thinks I'm going to hit him! Dammit!! DANG it, that doesn't _freaking_ count! FRICK! _Frick_ me," he stormed, kicking the tree again.

 

"Jason. Look at me. Jason, listen, I am _very_ proud of you for coming out here when you were upset instead of taking it out on Tim. You did the right thing, chum. You hear me? You did well." For the second time that day, he held Jason as the boy cried.

 

"What do I do?" Jason sobbed. "If I were him, I'd think I was gonna hit me, too."

 

Bruce hesitated. "Jay, you remember how long it took you to believe that I would never hit you, no matter what?"

 

Jason went quiet and subdued.

 

"You just have to be patient, Jay," Bruce said gently. "Tim will come around. In the meantime, just be patient and do your best. Don't try to rush Tim, and eventually, you _will_ earn his trust."

 

"Why is this so _freaking_ hard...?"

 

When they came back in, Bruce, with Jason sullenly following, looked from Dick's concerned, helpless expression to Tim's apprehension. "Well, I've made all three of the kids in my house cry on Christmas. I don't think I want to know my parenting score."

 

"It's A+," Dick assured him immediately. "The bad feelings go away when you cry them out, and then things are better!"

 

"Crying sucks, and my face hurts," Jason complained.

 

"It's not your fault," Tim said anxiously, "I promise I won't cry again, I was just, just so overwhelmed by your kindness and generosity--" He broke off and stared, wide-eyed, as Dick gently clapped his face between both hands.

 

"Timmy, you sound like you're reading a speech off of notecards."

 

"I don't know how I'm supposed to talk," Tim said blankly, a little muffled because of his squished cheeks.

 

"I--" Jason started, then blushed, looked away from Tim, and addressed the wall, flowing between accents to emphasize his point. "'Member when I first came here, Dad? Talked like gutter trash; but you listen to enough educated people and watch enough period dramas and such things, you'll start speaking in kind."

 

"Oohh! Do that Uncle Alfred voice again!" Dick exclaimed in delight.

 

Jason grinned and said in his passable British accent, "If you youngsters are quite finished with your culinary experiments, perhaps you might tidy up the kitchen before you find other employment."

 

"Spot ON, Jay!"

 

Bruce cleared his throat. "You're amazing, Jaybird!" he chirped in such an accurate mimicry of Dick's voice that the boys shrieked in amazement and Tim stared at him admiringly.

 

TBC?

 

A/N: The next bit wasn't working, and as far as I know, that's all there is to write before the sequel / time skip, and I just...I'm tired, I'm gonna just post it now and fix whatever needs fixing later. X'''D

 

Bruce was quoting in-universe, but the source doesn't exist in real life, I made it up.

 

Since I already wrote all of the original plot bunny for this idea, even though it doesn't have a proper ending, I'm gonna consider it temporarily/tentatively complete for now and return to other projects, particularly _The Birds Who Smile_.


End file.
